The Missing
by Ham Atom
Summary: SPD. Pre-series. Sky Tate knows what he is. Knows what he will be. Everything makes at least a certain amount of sense. Then he meets a young psychic with a mysterious past. And everything makes less sense. A story of friendship.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Little something I've been playing around with in my free time. I should be working on my other story, which has been labeled "In Progress" for its whole life. Poor thing. I will get around to that probably definitely. But in the meantime, the phrase "And now for something completely different" springs to mind. Those who read, enjoy.

Oh, and I'll be taking liberties with the storyline and/or characters. 'Cause come on. That's the point. Mm. Yep. Love me some liberties.

Title: The Missing

Chapter 1

Commander Cruger

I've spent many years as Commander of Space Patrol Delta. Many more years as a Sirian warrior. I have tasted victory at its sweetest and felt the most crushing kind of defeat. I have loved, despised, fought against and alongside males and females of scores of races from dozens of planets. There are days when I believe I've seen everything there is to see in this galaxy, for better and for worse. Days when I believe surely that nothing I encounter could surprise me. Then there are those best and worst days when I prove that theory utterly untrue.

I was in the control room, monitoring the progress of the new A-Squad Rangers as they responded to a relatively routine service call. Perronville, a few hundred clicks south of our Newtech City base, had a downed speedtrain line. With the power down, there was no communication with the train, and apparently a live ground wire had been exposed, making the rescue of the trapped passengers difficult for the local emergency teams. There had been no collision, however, so civilian injuries, if there were any, were expected to be few. I sent in the SPD Rangers to assist in the rescue operation. In all, it was a bit of a slow day. We'd had many of those lately.

"Doggie." My ears twitched. The tone of voice in which Katherine Manx said my name right then corded the muscles in my shoulders and raised the fine hairs at the back of my neck. Before I even heard her next words, I knew that my slow day had just flown out the window. She sat across the room at her control panel, bent over monitors and keyboards. The blinking lights reflected off her face as she frowned. "I…think there's a problem."

"What is it, Kat?" I barked, my sudden tension making the words come out harsher than I intended. Not that that ever phases her.

"It's…I think this is a distress signal." Her voice sounded distant, the way it does when her mind is more focused on whatever problem is in front of her than on speaking to me.

"What are you talking about?"

"Come look at this."

I crossed the room in four strides and looked down at the monitor that had captured her attention. The screen showed a power grid for Newtech City. Toward the southeast corner of the city, a small yellow beacon flashed. "Where did this come from?"

"I don't know. This grid just popped up on my monitor. Like…someone uploaded it straight to our control panel."

"Isn't that impossible?"

"_Yes_." She shook her head. "The amount of security and encryptions and firewalls…"

"So this could be some kind of virus or…"

"No."

"No?"

"No. Read this."

My eyes scanned the bottom of the screen where a text box sat glowing in red and holding very few words. " 'Please come,'" I read slowly. " 'Trapped. Hurts.'" I looked at Kat. I could see her worry building. The beginnings of worry were churning in my own gut. But I was also thinking about how many different ways this could be a trap. "There wasn't anything attached to this when it came through?"

Kat shook her head. "I've scanned it three times. It's clean. I have a program triangulating the position of the computer that sent this message. My guess is, we'll find it here," she pointed to the yellow beacon. "This is the Kerogagi Research Facility."

My jaw set. "Kat."

She looked at me. "Can you think of one other interpretation for this other than a cry for help? Someone is in trouble. Someone brilliant enough to send _us_ a message through our own security. We need to investigate this. We should leave now."

"It's practically foreign soil!" Kerogagi was a scientific embassy of sorts—a meeting place and lab facility for some of the most brilliant minds in the association of planets friendly with Earth. The researchers who worked there were considered dignitaries. The place had its own security that mostly operated outside of the rest of the planet's jurisdiction. No need to remind Kat. She knew.

Even so, there was fire in her dark eyes. "So we should just let it go?"

"Of course not! But we can't just storm the place either. It would do nothing for the person who sent this message, and at the end of the day all we'd have done was forfeit our jobs. We have no evidence that this is something serious; we have no authority to act unless we can prove there are laws being broken. I'm not asking you to look the other way; I'm asking you to _find_ another way."

And she did.

* * *

Sky Tate

_Not a good day. _

I walked through the halls of the SPD Academy with the clipped, confident stride of someone who actually knew what was going on, a duffel bag thrown over one shoulder, my blue eyes sharp and staring right through anyone who crossed my path. It was a look I'd pretty much perfected—letting people know without doubt or effort that I saw them, missed nothing, and rightly concluded they weren't worth my time.

The place was crowded with new first years and their oh-so-proud mommies and daddies and whatever other various members of their family support structures had thought it necessary to show up. The kids all looked nervous and excited, and even if the newbies were my age, I knew I'd never been that young. Didn't even know what they were so excited about. Statistically speaking, before the next two weeks of ground school were up, at least a third of these fresh faces would drop out and go back to their safe, comfy little high schools and their slightly less proud mommies and daddies.

Man, I hated move-in day.

It made it worse that I also hated my new roommate. _Former_ new roommate. Well, soon-to-be-former new roommate, anyway. Kid was a second year, like me, except he was a transfer. Name was Johnson. He probably had a first name, though within five seconds of meeting him, I couldn't think of a single reason why I should bother to learn it. Within five _minutes_ of meeting him, I wanted to forget his last name, too.

I'd roomed with Dru the last two semesters, and somehow he'd managed to convince me I needed a best friend, and he was it. No small task. Honestly. Think what I liked most about him was he didn't get me at all. Well, really, that wasn't anything new. But he _knew_ that he didn't get me, and he didn't bother trying. Everybody else, seemed like, either thought they had me all figured out, or they made it their mission to do so.

When I was little, me and my dad would visit this old buddy of his. The man was blind, and he'd spend hours upon hours fitting together these jigsaw puzzles. Everyone thought that was great and amazing, but I didn't see the point. Why would the man care about putting together a puzzle if he couldn't see the picture it made? He told me it wasn't about seeing the picture. It was just about completing the puzzle. That's what I figured people were about when they "took an interest" in me. Wasn't about seeing the real me at all. It was just about solving a puzzle. I wasn't at all inclined to give anyone the satisfaction.

Dru, though, just let me be me. Never asked any probing personal questions, never expected me to do the same. We could hang out all day, say six words or six million, and none of those words would be about anything deeper than who we expected to win what championship of any given sports season, what teacher gave what annoying project that week, or what cadet had pulled what crazy stunt. It was a convenient friendship. We were roommates. We went through ground school together. We had a bond. So when I heard he was being transferred and I'd probably never see him again, I was pretty annoyed.

And like I said, this Johnson kid didn't help any.

Apparently the guy was the small talk type. He'd been in my room ten minutes, tried to get me to talk about every pointless topic from family to music to the freaking weather. Of course, I mostly ignored him, inserting a grunt or a glare where necessary. Then he put up this poster of the flavor of the minute pop singer chick. I only recognized her because, like it or not, I lived with two hundred teenagers. Auburn Alora stood in a tank top, glancing back over her bare shoulder with a smile that seemed a little too "come hither" for a—what was she, like sixteen, seventeen years old? I wondered briefly if she had parents and if they'd seen that poster and what they'd think if they knew it was hanging in the bedroom of an SPD cadet being ogled by a moron. Then, of course, I realized I didn't care.

Johnson raised an eyebrow with a lewd smile meant to nudge me into joining him in drooling over her hotness. Not that she wasn't hot. That girl was it. But Johnson thought he was setting up some male bonding ritual, and it was so juvenile, and he was a moron. At the time I just gritted my teeth and figured it'd be a long semester.

But then his eyes slid over to my side of the room and my stuff, and I felt him trying to get a read on me. Trying to figure me out. I felt my blood getting hot. I had one picture in a frame on my desk. Me and my dad. And this punk kid who didn't know me from Adam walked over and picked up that frame—put his hand on _my_ stuff—and said, "Hey. This your old man?"

I'd been calm. Oh, I'd been very calm. "Put it down."

And he had. Immediately. And after that, Chatty Cathy, his eyes all wide, had nothing else to say, not even as I calmly, oh so calmly, told him to "Sign here, please." And he did, and he was very nervous. Guess he wasn't as stupid as I thought.

I know he thought I was going to hit him, and I know he didn't know why. I didn't have any sympathy for him. But at least I hadn't hit him. I'd considered it, sure. Would've looked bad. Instead, I calmly placed my things back in my bag, stepped out into the hallway, and hit the door lock with slightly more force than may have been necessary.

I straightened. Squared my shoulders against the stares I could feel on my back. With my housing reassignment request form firmly in hand I headed for the offices. Seeing all the cadets with their parents rubbed on already frayed nerves. They were kids. Kids who had no idea what they were doing. Fact that I had three more years as one of them made the blood in my veins start to simmer.

Most people my age have reps they like to protect. Actually, I had two. To the instructors and staff, I was straight-laced and by the book. A hard worker with Ranger in my blood. To the cadets I was a guy nobody messed with. I liked it that way. Kept people from looking too close.

I pulled up at the Academy main office, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at the red light above the door panel. Seriously? Why would they close the office on move-in day? I stared at the door for a minute before peeking around to the window to see if everyone in the office was out to lunch or what. I really wasn't expecting what I saw.

Lt. Cmdr. Jaines, Dean of Admissions, stood circled up with a couple other administrators including the big dog himself. Cmdr. Anubis Cruger—"Doggie" to those closest to him and those far enough away to call him that behind his back—stood there, grim-faced and larger-than-life as usual. I'd met him a few times. School things mostly. Opening ceremonies, induction, commencement. He'd been at the funeral, of course. Still, every time I saw the blue alien, he just looked…big.

I stepped back from the window with a frustrated sigh. I've never been a patient guy. People have always told me I need to work on that. Maybe I would if it didn't seem like such a huge waste of time.

I glanced away, moving toward the row of chairs that lined the wall outside the office. Two guys and a girl I recognized as all having a place on D-Squad stood at the end of the row, arms crossed, looking nervous and standing almost at attention. Shannoi Sido was kind of cute. Dark hair and the pale, almost bluish skin of the Faregians. She looked a little paler and bluer than usual, sending short, uncomfortable looks to Corin Nesby, her teammate, who passed them on to their team leader whose name escaped me. D-Squad Leader was an Earth-born native, brown hair and skin, standing there like the world was on his shoulders and he hadn't realized it'd be so heavy.

I frowned at them, wondering what their problem was, but doubt they saw me. I was about to sit. I was that close to missing it. But over by D-Squad Mall Cop and his team, there on the floor, I saw a pair of sock-covered toes sticking out, nearly hidden behind the row of seats. I frowned more.

Curiosity isn't something I feel all that often, not in a killed-the-cat sense anyway. But that's why I've never been so good at resisting. I took a few steps toward the wayward pair of feet to see who they were connected to. My eyebrows rose a little on their own.

The kid was curled up a little against the wall, his knees pulled to his chest, hands gripping tight to the fabric of his pants. He was young. At first I thought he must've been somebody's little brother wandered off, maybe hiding. But then I knew that wasn't the case. First off, he was in an SPD cadet uniform—even if it was two or three sizes too big. And second…second was more instinct than anything else, but…it really didn't look like this kid belonged to anybody.

Still, though, he couldn't be a cadet. Kid looked like he was what? Ten years old? I could never tell how old kids are. In any case, admission age was sixteen. They'd bent the rules for me, let me in at fifteen, but I was exceptional. This kid definitely didn't look exceptional. In fact, he didn't even really look healthy. He was real skinny, and his hair was wild and shaggy, and he was too pale. His eyes were open but squinted, and I saw the thin lines around them and realized he was in pain.

Quicker than anything, his eyes shot up to meet mine. In fact, it startled me. Which was notable because I don't startle easily. He winced and brought his hands up to his temples. His hands. They were wrapped clumsily with what looked like strips of cloth from a shredded t-shirt. I tilted my head to the side to look at him. He looked back at me—had to tilt his head back pretty far. His eyes were really green. And the way he looked at me…made me feel…trapped somehow. There was something really…really different about him. It was mostly in his eyes, in his expression. I didn't know what it was or whether it was good, but there was something about him that screamed _different_. And he had no idea how to hide it.

_He's shaking,_ I realized. Shivering, even though the temperature in the Academy stayed at a regulated 71 degrees. _He's afraid._ I knew this. Which was odd because he didn't really look scared at all. Besides the trembling, there were no other clues, but I _knew_ that this kid was scared out of his mind.

I took a step closer, felt my mouth open, and I had no idea what would come out—a brand new concept for me. But I was saved from saying anything, when D-Squad stepped up.

"Move along, Cadet," Team Lead fairly growled, but the tremor in his voice betrayed his unease.

I tore my eyes away from the kid on the floor to look at him. Man, what was his name? "Just need a signature from Jaines to take to Housing," I told him like I knew what had him so on edge. Even though I really had no idea. I shot a glance toward the kid and looked back up at him almost lazily. "This kid lost?"

"Not your business to know. Why don't you come back later." No question in that question. He uncrossed his arms, taking a step toward me, trying to intimidate. With his arms uncrossed I could read the name stitched into his uniform. Mowerly. _That _was that guy's name.

I didn't move. "I'm in no hurry. Think I'll wait."

"Then you can wait over there." He pointed to the opposite end of the row. Corin Nesby and Shannoi took a step closer, Corin Nesby's jaw stiffening, and Shannoi swallowing and blinking. Thinking something would happen.

I looked at them. Looked at Mowerly. Cocked my head to one side. "Yes, sir." It is entirely possible to speak respectfully without any measure of respect. He tensed but couldn't call me on it. With a smile that made him think I wouldn't comply and a hesitation that made him absolutely sure I wouldn't, I turned and walked away toward the end of the row.

I sat down slowly, deliberately, because I wasn't about to get huffy in front of witnesses. It was weird, though. Felt wrong. Were Mowerly and the others _guarding_ that kid? Why? What made him so special? I knew if I leaned forward and turned my head, I'd be able to see the kid's feet sticking out, and I had the sudden intense urge to check to make sure he was still there and okay. Which was stupid. That little nobody was nothing to me. I'd probably never see him again, and that didn't bother me. Why should it?

The hall was a bit noisy, people rushing about and laughing and hugging and all that. But I thought I heard something else. Small voices.

"I disagree," Jaines's voice. From the office. "If he's allowed to stay, he cannot have free reign of our premises. It's out of the question."

I looked up. There was a ventilation duct over my head. I sat up straighter and wanted for everyone else around me to shut up.

There was a grunt that sounded like Sgt. Logan. "Bottom line: kid's dangerous. I don't want him anywhere near my cadets. What if he goes out of control, starts terrorizing people's heads? How do we…"

"We don't even know he can do that," Dr. Manx interrupted. Sounded like she was getting pretty worked up. "There's no reason to believe…"

Jaines spoke right over the top of her. "You're going to put everybody in this organization at risk because he 'seems' harmless?" He didn't let her answer. "Doctor, you seem to be forgetting that we have a responsibility to this academy and all its members. To jeopardize their safety in order to…"

"Oh, come off it, Jaines. You're worried about politics, not about anyone else's safety. You're afraid if the parents find out about the boy you'll be the one to catch any backlash. You'd put your own interests over…"

"Why shouldn't their parents freak out?" Logan demanded in his gruff, low voice. "You'd be fine with it if your kid had to share a room with a friggin psychic?" My head came up sharply at that. _Psychic? _He didn't let her answer either. "Point is, we _don't_ know what he can do. And until we've assessed him as a _threat_…"

"A threat?" Manx was livid. I'd seen her annoyed, mad even, but right then…it went way beyond that. "He's a twelve-year-old boy! For heaven's sake, have you even _looked_ at him?"

"Yeah," Logan said shortly. Sounded like an idiot. "I have. And it occurred to me that he's hiding something."

"Hiding something? He's _mute_," she defended. Clearly she thought he sounded like an idiot, too.

"He's not talking. That don't mean he's mute. Kid managed to break out of a high security facility, right? We still don't even know how." I swallowed. _He did what?_

"They were holding him prisoner! There's no telling what they did to him!"

"Exactly," Jaines cut in evenly. "So we're dealing with a highly unstable child with an ability we don't fully understand. Not even counting his young age, to place him in an environment where he could harm others—maybe even himself—would not only be irresponsible. I'd say it's downright negligent."

"He found a way to get a message out, and he called _us_. He thought he could find sanctuary with _us_." She shook her head. "He deserves some kind of normal," she wouldn't budge. "At least as close as we can manage. Someone should let him have a normal life."

"Not at the expense of another's. We are SPD. We are the law. We are protectors. I will not allow this mind-reader to have an opportunity to strike at us at our core. At our future generation. The ones we have greatest cause to protect."

"He _is_ one we have greatest cause to protect. He's_ one of us_."

"The fact is, Dr. Manx, we don't know what he is. He is an anomaly. An aberration. And a mystery. One we may be unable to control. There really is only one solution. One in which _everyone_ remains safe, and no one outside these walls will have cause to notice or object." He paused, so very sure of himself. "We need to isolate the boy."

There were more words. Dr. Manx just about exploded, and no one really heard her but me. I sat there, letting those words wash over me, straining to hear and not wanting to listen. _Who do they think they are? _A fierce, hot anger built inside my chest with every passing moment as I thought about that little kid. Sitting huddled on the floor twelve feet from me while four people were allowed to shut the door on him—where no one would _notice_—and decide his future. Decide whether or not they wanted to lock him up for being different. _**Who**__ do they think they __**are**__?_

I stood. Walked to the end of the row. Stood over that kid, trying to keep my hands from clenching into fists, ignoring sudden protests from Mowerly and the others. He looked at me, shaking and not blinking his giant green eyes. Afraid. Afraid of me. Afraid of the people behind closed doors. Afraid of what would happen next.

Sometimes I think everyone in the universe besides me is a complete idiot. In that moment, I was willing to let Dr. Manx off the hook. But to look at this tiny little kid in all his raw terror and think he was dangerous…Heck, I wished he _was_ dangerous. If he were dangerous, he wouldn't have had to be so scared.

Mowerly stepped right up in front of me. He was four years older. But we were exactly the same height. Never noticed that before. "Cadet, I'm only gonna say it one more time…back off."

I looked right at his eyes. "I need to speak with the kid."

"Sky…" Shannoi tried to reason with me.

Corin Nesby wasn't nearly so diplomatic. "Tough. You got nothing to say to him." Like he'd know. "Forget it, and move on." Corin Nesby was not the same height as me. Guy's a big boy. Maybe a couple inches taller. More than a couple inches wider. Not fat. Muscle.

If I said I knew what the heck I was doing, I'd be lying. Honestly. "That's the thing, though. I can't do that. See, I've got a pretty good memory."

"Tate," he growled.

"Sky, what are you doing?" Shannoi asked, getting worried and annoyed. She glanced back at the kid really quick, and maybe if I'd missed the look in her eyes I would've been able to back off. Maybe I would've been able to walk away. But I didn't miss it. And I won't say I don't miss much. I do miss much. I know that. But I saw how she saw that kid. Like he was a thing, a monster. Not so much hatred; not in her. In her there was a little fear, and a lot of disgust, and there was something else, too. And it looked like pity. Pity. Not mercy. It was the kind of look people give to a dead cat on the side of the road as they drive by. A fleeting moment of pity that's forgotten in the next second. When I saw that, recognized it, I was sealed. I couldn't walk away from that.

"I need to have a conversation with him."

"Sky, he can't even talk. You don't know what's going on, and it doesn't concern you. Please. You need to leave." She had honey-colored eyes that were big and pleading and always looked sad even when she was happy.

"Sorry," I said. But I wasn't.

Mowerly scowled. "Can't believe this," he muttered. His voice slowed and deepened. "You're a freaking lunatic, Tate. Turn around. And walk away. That's an order. If you refuse, I _will_ restrain you. You really want to make that kind of scene right here in the hallway?"

I fought the urge to look around. I'm sure our little stand-off had attracted a few stares, but most everyone who passed by was absorbed in their own business. "No, sir. I really don't." That was true. I really didn't.

"Good. Turn around."

"Right after you step aside and let me talk to your…" I said "prisoner" at the same time he insisted "Assignment."

Mowerly shook his head at me. I was a stupid second year cadet. He had no reason to fear me. "I'm done. Corin?" Almost before Mowerly had nodded in my direction, Corin Nesby's gorilla hand landed on my shoulder. I didn't think.

I reacted.

Before his hand even had time to settle, I jerked my shoulder from under him, grabbing his hand and twisting until he had to bend over to keep his shoulder from wrenching. I tightened my hold until he shouted and then stepped around, turning him with me, and only shoving him away when I stood between the three of them and the kid psychic.

There was a moment, probably no more than a second, where nobody moved. It was suddenly me against the three of them, and they were shocked and I was mad. That second was long enough for fury to build in three sets of eyes because a stupid second year had just assaulted one of their own. Even Shannoi wouldn't let that stand.

There was a shout from Corin Nesby as he worked the soreness out of his wrist. And then he smiled a sick smile. With Mowerly on one side, and Shannoi on the other, he came at me. He might even have won. But I did what made the most sense at the time. I stopped him.

Almost without my consent, the familiar energy surged from my head down my arm, releasing out of my fingertips as I formed a shield around me and the kid. I'd been practicing. In secret. Even so, if any one of them had tried to break it, they probably could've. But the blue, shimmering force field that had shot from my hands had been enough to stop all three of them dead. I heard gasps. A scream. I knew that would matter later, but right then it really didn't somehow. I held the shield, already feeling the fatigue start creeping into the edges of my brain. Turned toward the little boy.

He was pressed flat against the wall, his eyes wide as they could be. I took my paper out of my pocket with my free hand and thrust it at him. He flinched. "I want you to sign this," I told him calmly as Mowerly found his voice and started yelling things, still not brave enough to touch my shield—which was a very good thing because I was pretty sure a fly could've busted it at that point, and that really would've hurt. The kid didn't move.

"Just trust me." If anyone had said that to me, I would've called them an idiot. It really was too much to ask right then. Pretty sure I even knew that.

But I guess he figured he had no other choice because he only hesitated a second before he took the paper and pen from me. He shot me a quick look like he wondered if it had been a trick, and he'd be in trouble for taking them.

"Everything's fine," I said through my teeth as more and more people gathered to watch the scene, and I knew this would be bad, and I didn't know why I'd ever thought it'd be worth it. "Hurry." It was hard for him, his hands wrapped up like they were. But he scribbled a signature where I pointed, and that was enough for me. "Good. Follow me."

He scrambled up and stayed behind me as I backed toward the door. I dropped my shield and smiled at D-Squad. Smiled at them and all the familiar and unfamiliar faces of the crowd behind them that had just seen me being what I was. None of them smiled back.

"Tate!" Corin Nesby yelled. He wouldn't come near me now. "You freak!" That's about all he had in his arsenal.

My smile didn't waver. I _was_ a freak. I already knew that. "Yes, sir."

I hit the control panel and barged into a roomful of my superiors without batting an eye, the kid close behind me, and my rage fueling me in what was ultimately a blatant show of disrespect. Pretty much blew the straight-laced, by-the-book image out the window. Thank goodness I never stopped to think what the heck I was doing.

Four sets of eyes were on me, and I took advantage of their shock to get my words in. "Sirs. I'd like approval for a room change request. I've already found a cadet willing to move with me."

"Cadet Tate!" Logan barked, and he was actually stunned. Then he looked wild-eyed at the boy behind me like the kid was a Moraneese bulldragon with its drip fangs extended. "What is _he_ doing…"

Mowerly stepped up behind me, his team on his heels, and the kid snaked around to my other side, away from them. The D-Squad leader spoke heatedly to Jaines, never coming within three feet of me. "Sir! Did you… Tate's one of them!"

The whole room felt like chaos. The two male members of D-Squad pointing at me and spitting and cursing my name and Shannoi standing there, wordless, doing her best to figure out what she thought about what she'd just seen because I think maybe she didn't want to hate me right then.

The little kid stood close to me, not so close as to be in my personal space, but close enough that I could grab him if someone else tried to snatch him away. His shoulders were bunched tight, and he had his wrapped hands pressed into the sides of his head, his eyes squinted and watery like everything was so loud it hurt.

And me, I stood there. And saw everyone. And waited.

"Enough!" Jaines finally shouted, and it worked. D-Squad shut up. "D-Squad. You're dismissed." He sounded angry. I wondered if having them guard the kid had been his idea.

Mowerly wasn't quite ready to let go. "Sir…"

"Mowerly," Jaines said sharply, and the two locked eyes for a moment. "Dismissed."

The upper level cadet nodded once, automatically, and I ignored his glare and his fear as he did what he was told and retreated with his team. Corin Nesby sent me a look that promised retribution. And Shannoi…she gave me a look a lot like the one she'd given the kid.

While the door slid shut behind them, Logan was busy fuming. "Tate, where do you get off…"

I cut him off. He wasn't too used to being cut off. It showed. "My previous roommate has already signed a room reassignment request. I'd like to move in with a new cadet. His name is," I scanned the name on the paper, "Bridge Carson." I nodded my head at him. Standing there looking small and lost in the oversized uniform, he looked like he really wanted to disappear. But whatever powers he had, apparently that wasn't one of them. "That's him there. Wearing the SPD uniform."

Jaines looked gut-punched. "Where did you get his name, Tate?"

"It's right here on my request form, sir." The words were innocent enough. But everything about the way I said them accused him of being exactly what he was, and I can't imagine that would've sat too well with him. He snatched the form from me to see it was true.

"This boy is _not_ a cadet," he snapped.

I blinked innocently. "Well, would you care to explain to me what he is, sir?"

Logan broke in. "He ain't even old enough to enroll!"

"Neither was I."

Jaines helped him out. "You were different."

"So is he."

It took him a second before he remembered he didn't actually have to answer to me. "Consider your request denied, cadet," he said stiffly. "Dismissed."

"No, sir." Shock and contempt reddened his face. "I have business to attend to here. If you refuse to hear me, I invoke my right as a member of Space Patrol Delta to be heard by the commander of this facility."

"As a cadet, you have no such right." He was completely correct on that point. I knew this. Regardless, I figured I'd give it a shot while the Commander was in the room—silent as the Sirian had been up to this point. "Now, I will give you five seconds to leave this room before _I invoke_ disciplinary measures for this gross insubordination…"

"If this kid goes missing, sir, if he disappears," I told him, standing at my full height, all six foot two inches of me staring him down, "I. Will. Notice."

"You don't know what you're talking about Tate," Logan growled.

"But I am talking about it, sir." I would not back down. "And I have a pretty big mouth." I looked at Jaines. "How's that for politics?" Maybe that was blackmail. But if it was his reputation he was worried about, I didn't have a problem telling the world he'd locked up an innocent little kid because he was a coward. Made me sick.

Jaines sputtered for a moment, and I know he was getting ready to come down on me, and I know he'd have kicked me out if he could've. He couldn't expel me, though. I knew that even then. I braced myself to face his wrath. But as soon as he opened his mouth, before he could even say word one, something happened. Something that reminded me why it mattered so much to me to be where I was.

Commander Cruger reached out and took my form from Jaines. It was enough to silence the LC. Then Cruger, who hadn't said a word since the whole thing began, took up a pen. While all of us watched, he leaned over the office desk and signed my request.

No one moved for a moment after that. I looked at Dr. Manx. I'm not even sure why. But she met my eyes with a relieved, grateful smile. The kind of smile I didn't see often. From anyone.

"Here you are, Cadet Tate," the Commander said as he handed back a piece of paper that was suddenly very important. "Take this to the housing office to receive your new room assignment. I'll have Cadet Carson's paperwork sent there as soon as possible. Cadet," he turned and looked at Bridge. The kid shuffled a step closer to me, but maintained eye contact, having to stare almost straight up.

When the commander of the SPD spoke again, his voice was different, just a little bit. It still held all of its authority and that serious edge that was its defining point. But it was that smallest bit softer. Kinder. "As of now, you are here on a scholarship that will cover all your essentials. I'll open the account. It should be ready later this evening for you to go to the Campus Store to purchase clothing and supplies for classes. I'll order placement tests, and then you will receive tutoring for the next few years until which time you are ready to join regular classes as a member of SPD."

Jaines was beside himself. "Sir…"

Cruger ignored him. Ignored everyone else. He kept his eyes on Bridge. Deliberately. "Do you understand?"

The kid jerked his head in a very solemn nod.

"Is this what you want?"

Another nod, and this one was more desperate. I think Cruger sensed that, too. That wasn't just what Carson wanted. It was more than he'd thought to hope for. "Fine. I trust your roommate will be useful during this transition, should you have any questions."

That part was definitely directed toward me. "Yes, sir," I said.

"And should there be any concerns, medically or otherwise, Dr. Manx has been known to keep an open door."

She nodded, looking almost close to tears. I'd never seen her like that.

"Then it's settled. I expect you to stop by my office tomorrow at 0600. We'll still need to make certain arrangements."

"Yes, sir," I said.

"The both of you."

I smiled, even if I didn't let it show. "Yes, sir."

"And now, Cadets," the Commander said. "You are both dismissed."

I snapped a salute—my elbow parallel to the floor, fist over my heart—putting all the gratitude I felt into that familiar symbol of respect. He nodded to me his understanding. Then the famously immoveable top dog of SPD did something I'd never seen him do. He smiled. It was quick. So quick I almost missed it. But it was there, and there was a measure of respect and pride in his eyes that I'd never seen before.

Before I turned and left, I did catch sight of Logan and Jaines. Two men I'd never had a real problem with before. Two men in positions of power over me. And, if the looks on their faces were any indication, two men I'd just crossed. I was no fool. I knew exactly what kind of enemies I was making—even as I made sure both of them saw my most smug smile. Two administrators. All of D-Squad. I'd just made some serious enemies all in the span of what? Eight minutes? I was just a lowly cadet. A second year nobody. But I was first and always a Tate. _Bring it on._

With my victory in hand, I stepped out into the hall, grabbed my duffel, and turned in the direction of the housing office. I'd taken three steps before I realized the kid wasn't with me. I turned back. He was standing in front of the closed office door, watching me, uncertain. I wrinkled my forehead a bit, wondering what he was waiting for. "Well," I nodded him forward. "Come on."

The invitation, apparently, was all he needed. He stepped up to me, stopping two feet away. Caught me with that gaze of his that was like nothing I'd ever seen. Like everything he felt was right there, scrolling across those intense green eyes. In that moment, through his fear and uncertainty, I saw intelligence. I saw that he knew exactly what I'd just done and understood it all. And somehow right then, he told me thank you just with his eyes and that even if it was impossible, he'd do everything he could to pay me back. That as long as I wanted him around, he'd be there.

I blinked, wondering where all that came from. _He's psychic._ The words clanged in my mind, and I felt a sudden wave of unease before I could help it. He took a step back like that wave had crashed right over his head. I stared at him for a minute. "Do you know what I'm thinking?"

He shook his head no. And it was in his eyes, and I thought that even if he had been lying, I would've been able to tell immediately. Man, I wanted him to stop looking so afraid. I was used to other cadets being nervous or intimidated around me. But this kid—he looked like he knew I could change at any moment. At any moment I could turn on him, and he'd have no chance against me. And if that's what he thought, he couldn't read my mind at all.

"Okay. Well quit thinking like that," I told him automatically. He blinked in surprise. Like he wondered if maybe I was the psychic. "Now come on." And I turned and started walking again. It only took a second for me to sense him walking close behind me, his footsteps silent.

I guess it was the victory high that made it so I didn't have to think about how I may have just changed everything. That would eventually wear off.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Commander Cruger

Silence reigned for a few moments after Sky Tate left with the boy. I let out a quiet breath. _Well, there's an unexpected development._

"Sir…" Jaines began.

"Edward," I snapped. "That'll be all. You both have duties to perform, don't you?"

"But…"

"That'll be all."

He stood glaring at me and all but vibrating with anger. "This is a mistake." And with that, he and Sergeant Logan filed out. I'm sure if they could have slammed the door, they would have.

I looked at Kat as her shoulders slumped and she half-leaned, half-sat on the desk. She looked drained. There was something of a smile on her lips, however, even if the lines of worry around her eyes hadn't completely disappeared.

I sighed. "You know, I'm not sure he's wrong."

She looked at me, and I felt guilty for making that small smile disappear. "What?"

"I'm not sure this isn't a mistake."

"You wouldn't have locked him up." She didn't sound as sure as either of us wanted her to be. "He's a little boy, Doggie. You wouldn't have locked him up, and you wouldn't have sent him away." I didn't say anything, and she pressed harder. "We're his only hope of having a life right now."

Of course putting him in foster care or an orphanage was out of the question, considering what he was. Not counting security concerns, I doubted anyone would even take him. He wouldn't stand a chance. "Still. It isn't fair to ask what I just asked of Sky Tate."

"Really? Because from where I was standing, it was Sky Tate who asked you. If it had been anyone else who had come in here saying what Sky said, I would've supported you turning them down. But I don't think I could have planned this any more perfectly, do you?"

Really it was too much of a coincidence to indulge thinking about. Actually, it was more of a coincidence than I was ready to think about. "He doesn't know what he's getting into. He's too young. What if he can't handle this boy? Or what if this boy can't handle him? Sky has his own set of problems; you know that. And now, on top of it all, word will spread about his power, and there's nothing we can do to stop that."

"That was his choice."

I went on like I hadn't heard her. "And Sky isn't exactly the most patient or indulgent of individuals. What if putting them together now only serves to drive them apart? It could ruin everything."

"I think you'll find yourself surprised."

"And you base this on what?"

"Call it gut instinct."

And she calls herself a scientist. I sighed and changed the subject. "Just…tell me what really happened out there, Kat."

With the Rangers still deployed, Kat had insisted on going to check out Kerogagi on her own. I'd never let that happen. I sent Logan with her, knowing the big man would keep her safe and would pull her out before letting her do anything foolish. By the time I got word from them, they were back, there was this small human boy with them that Logan avoided eye contact with like the plague, Jaines had been informed and was huffing and puffing, and three members of D-Squad were on guard duty with nervous looks and squeaky boots. They'd made it into the building as far as the Academy Office when I met them, and I only had the briefest look at the child in question when everyone started shouting at me and each other about what _my_ decision should be.

Kat shook her head, and for a moment she was miles away. I didn't like that. "He was waiting for us."

My eyes narrowed. "So he was the one who sent the message?"

"I don't know if it was him or someone trying to help him, but he's the one we were supposed to rescue. Doggie, when we pulled up, that place was on lockdown. We could hardly get within a block of it. They had their guards stopping cars to search them."

"They don't have the authority to…"

"I know. And as a member of SPD, I told the guy so. In fact, I broadcasted it quite loudly."

Under different circumstances, I might've felt sorry for whatever poor fool had been caught in the crosshairs of one worried, irate Katherine Manx. "You made sure everyone in the area knew you were SPD, hoping to draw out the messenger," I nodded.

"It was obvious KRI had lost something. I figured what they lost might be the same person we were trying to find." She gave a tired smile. "What do you know. It worked."

"He found you?"

"The KRI guard told us there was an escaped 'experiment.' A 'being with powerful and dangerous psychic abilities who can appear in the body of a young boy.' The man was very serious, very grave, and very…convincing. Logan pulled us out of there immediately. I think he was ready to bring this back to you and request that we help KRI hunt the boy down. But then we got down the road a ways, and…I turned around, and there he was, curled up in the back of the van, looking at me."

I felt my mouth open. "How…?"

"I don't know. Logan was spooked, though, nearly ran off the road. He ended up pulling off to the side, and he pointed his weapon at that child, wouldn't lower it no matter what I said. This kid hardly batted an eye. I approached him, and it seemed to bother him, me getting closer." Her hands moved in troubled, meaningless gestures as she tried to relate to me what she saw. As she tried to sort out how she felt. "All he had was a pair of these…hospital issue pajama bottoms, and he'd taken off his t-shirt and wadded it up in his hands. So I could see his chest and his arms, and he seemed so small, and he was looking at me with these eyes, and it just…" She gave a frustrated shake of her head, anger and sadness warring for control. "They were _everywhere_."

"What was everywhere?"

She looked up at me. "The bruises, Doggie. They were everywhere."

"He'd been beaten?" When I'd seen the boy, he certainly hadn't seemed injured.

"No. No, not beaten. His arms, they were…ugh, I've seen peak junkies with fewer needle marks in them. And not just his arms. Here," she pointed to the sensitive place where the collar bones meet just below the throat, "and here," the stomach, "and here," slots between the ribs. "No, I don't know that he was ever beaten, but that little boy was traumatized and abused, and it's so wrong, and we will _not_ do the same thing to him, and we will _not_ send him back."

Very few people I knew would have the nerve to speak to me like that. Even fewer could get away with it. She was one of them. "Kat…"

"He gave me this." She fished a folded, crumpled sheet of paper from her pocket and held it out. "He wouldn't dare get close enough to hand it to me, but he tossed it to me because it was that important."

I took the paper. It seemed to take me a long time to unfold it.

_My name is Bridge Carson. _I glanced at her.

"That's all," Kat said. "That's all he gave me. That's all he's willing to share right now. Just his name. The rest, I guess, he was hoping we'd be smart enough to figure out. "

I handed the note back to her. Slowly. I didn't know how to respond to that so I changed the subject. Again. "I'm assuming you tried to find out if there was any family."

That earned me a look. "Of course. I asked him. He shook his head no. Besides, I'm pretty certain we already know who his parents were."

"We can't really be sure, can we? Not yet." There were tests that could be done, of course. But they would raise questions. Questions I was in no way prepared to answer.

"Doggie. This can't be a coincidence. He came to _us_. Apparently he has a mental ability so strong that KRI thought they could exploit him for their own research. That doesn't sound like some freak genetic anomaly to me. And then, of all the people in the world, it's _Sky_ _Tate_ who barges in here to speak for him. Come on. You and I both know who this boy is. The rest of the world may not know; heck, _he_ may not even know, but we know who he is."

I didn't say anything for a long moment as I let her words sink in. It didn't really seem possible. I pictured that small boy. No, it did not seem possible. But it did seem unavoidable. "I wouldn't have allowed them to lock him up," I said quietly when that long moment had passed.

She nodded in sweet understanding. "I know."

I sighed. "We'll have to watch him closely."

"Of course."

"Well," I said, only partly understanding my reluctance. "I suppose we can scratch that second place off the list." My spine straightened and my voice went softer, deeper. "We've found another of the Missing."

* * *

Sky Tate

I got things squared away with the housing office. Took longer than it normally would because the housing staff isn't all that good at multi-tasking. But then I guess it'd be hard for anyone to print out room registries and gawk at the same time. Kid just looked so young. And weird. And it wouldn't have surprised me if some version of what had happened had already made it down to them. SPD really isn't all that big, people-wise. People talk.

But I didn't want to think about that. I was going through motions. Just doing what needed to be done. Autopilot. Doing what needed to be done before I could retreat to my room, close the door, and forget about everything that had just happened. Except Bridge was sort of crushing any hope I had that he'd be forgettable.

Bridge kept himself three feet from me the whole time. Never closer, never farther. Like I had this green-eyed, baby-faced moon orbiting me. Close enough I could keep him safe if someone else tried something. Far enough he could dart away from me if he needed to.

He thought everything was amazing. Like, tourists at Disney amazing. Actually, I'd been to Disney World once. And I'm pretty sure I didn't react anything like the way he did—turning all the way around, soaking in all aspects of the plain, white-walled room. Not like the academy housing office is an amazing place. Yes, the SPD gets the coolest toys. There are enough scientists and tech experts to bring us the latest and greatest, but those things are mostly reserved for the Rangers and any of the bigwigs who work out of the control room. Office has a few computers, comm. screens, scan readers, phones. Nothing that couldn't be found in any office pretty much anywhere on Earth. The big marble countertop desk at the front was probably its most impressive feature. And it never would've occurred to me to be impressed.

I wasn't about to try to explain that to Bridge, though. Didn't think he'd get it. He was downright awed. His eyes were huge, and he circled me as I tried to explain the situation to Ms. Stauffhaugen, his eyes touching on every little detail of the room. It was a pretty large room as far as offices go, so there were plenty of little details.

It was weird, though—while his eyes touched on everything, his fingers didn't. He kept his hands, awkwardly wrapped up like they were, at his sides. I tried to look like I wasn't watching him as I rattled off the details to Stauffhaugen, but geez, if it wasn't really distracting. Course, she wasn't even pretending not to stare at the weird little human. She eventually scanned the request form into the system and pulled up all the paperwork on the screen built into the top of the desk. I snatched up the pen wired to the desk and scrawled a digital signature onto the reader in all the right places.

Bridge was ogling the high ceiling, and then he knelt on one knee in front of the desk to study a pair of initials scratched into its base that I wouldn't have noticed in a million years.

"Carson," I said, and I was firm but didn't think I sounded harsh. "Stop." His head popped up, and he looked at me, silently asking what I wanted him to do. I nodded him up off the floor. "Need your signature up here."

He stood next to me, and I was by the desk screen, so he had to tighten his orbit a little, break that three feet barrier. The high countertop was about as tall as he was, so he went up on his toes trying to figure out where I needed him to put his name down. He still wouldn't touch anything, not even the desk to steady himself. So he had trouble holding that position. I figured his hands might be hurt. He'd signed the request form fine earlier, though. I held up the pen. "Can you hold onto this?"

He nodded like he thought the question was kind of strange. Yeah. 'Cause I was the strange one.

I stuck it in his hand and Stauffhaugen got over herself enough to point out where he was supposed to sign and initial. Of course, he couldn't really see any of it very well, so I held onto the end of the pen and guided it next to the x's on the screen where signatures were required, and he had no trouble reaching over the counter and signing blindly. It was half past seven by the time it was all said and done, and we were getting glares from all the secretaries because the office was supposed to close at seven. But hey. Wouldn't have taken so long if they could keep their eyeballs in their heads.

Stauffhaugen printed out a room sheet. For me. Just the one. None for him, I guess because they all figured I was his keeper. Which was not what I had signed on for. At least, not on purpose. I held in a sigh. Found him three feet away, torn between looking at me and looking at the printer that had just spit out that sheet of paper, curiosity etched into the tilt of his head and the glint in his eyes.

I shook my head. "Come on."

The hallways were mostly empty, save for a few stragglers. Most of the families had gone home, leaving their kids to get settled in and all that nonsense. Dorms started a couple floors up. It was kind of quiet down on the main level. I realized I couldn't hear the kid behind me, and I looked back. He was there, sure enough. Just quiet. If nothing else, at least he had the stealth thing going for him.

"Just walk beside me," I said, agitated. "You're making me paranoid."

I swear I could almost hear the word "sorry" in his expression as he double-timed it up next to me. Sought approval.

"Better. We'll make a run by the Campus Store before it closes, get you set up. How long have you been here?" That question sounded a lot like the kind of small talk type stuff that always made me grind my teeth. That wasn't what it was, though. I didn't know what exactly it was.

He shrugged a little.

"How many days?"

He looked at me. Like that was the wrong question.

"Oh." I thought a second. And it amazed me I knew how to revise it. "How many hours?"

He held up two cloth-wrapped fingers.

I shook my head. "Where were you before?" I don't know what I thought I was doing asking those open ended questions like I thought he could answer them. It just…felt right. I didn't even have to think about it.

He looked away, though. Immediately. And I realized that even if his eyes betrayed everything he was thinking, this kid still had a lot of secrets that he had no intention of sharing with anyone. Just like me. Not like I could hold that against him.

But there was something I had to know, even while I tried to convince myself I really wasn't his keeper and he really didn't matter to me. "Your hands," I said. "Are they hurt?"

He shook his head, still not looking at me.

"So then why…?" I gestured at the cloths.

He didn't answer. Well, of course he didn't. He put his hands into the baggy pockets of his pants and ducked his head lower and kept walking beside me like I'd asked him to. He took a deep quiet breath, and gradually raised his shoulders, tensing up like he thought something bad might happen.

"Carson." He winced. I sighed. "Stop worrying. I was just asking. If you don't want to answer, then don't."

He finally looked at me—a quick, surprised glance that effectively communicated his shock and gratefulness that I wasn't mad at him. His hands came out of his pockets for a moment, and he stared at them, and something in his gaze made _me_ feel sad and worried, and I wasn't even sure why. Then his hands went back in his pockets, and he was staring at the floor again. _Shame._ The knowledge echoed in my head. That's what he felt. He was ashamed. And it was deep and silent and didn't belong.

"Hey." I stopped and turned toward him, letting my bag slide to the floor. He froze, and I definitely had his full attention. My mind sparked, and I drew a hubcap-sized force shield in the air between us. Held it there while it shimmered and fluxed. I was going to have a killer headache later. "This is what I do. I make shields with my mind. Up until today, that wasn't exactly publicly known because people are idiots and they scare too easily." I looked at him, serious. "So what do you think? Does this scare you?"

He looked at my shield, the blue energy reflecting off his wide, bright eyes. He stood there a moment, and I started wishing he'd hurry up and answer because holding onto the force field was starting to make me tired and cranky. Then his lips curled upward into the tiniest piece of a smile I'd ever seen, and he looked at me and shook his head no and told me without words that actually, that sparkling energy was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Struck me as odd because I'd never thought of it as beautiful before.

I waved my hand, and the shield disappeared. Looked down at him. "Whatever it is that you do," I told him, "it doesn't scare me either. We clear?"

His nod was slow, and there was a lot of confusion and uncertainty, but at least I was sure he meant it.

"Good. So you can stop looking at me like that."

He tilted his head to one side. _Like what?_

"Like I'm automatically supposed to hate you. It's annoying. Knock it off." That came as a surprise, because when people looked at me like I was automatically supposed to like them, that annoyed me, too. Heck, that probably annoyed me more.

He looked a little helpless, but he nodded again, all apologetic and promising he'd try to fix it. Even if he hardly had any clue what I meant or why I was spending so much time talking to him like it mattered he should understand.

I shouldered my bag again. "Okay, then. Come on."

He fell into step three feet from my right side. Except any time someone passed us in the hallway, he'd inch a little closer, just until they were gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Commander Cruger

Back in the control room, I put my code into the computer, scrolling through the menu almost blindly, creating a student account for the SPD's newest…applicant. "They're going to come looking for him," I said suddenly and without tact.

"They'll probably even ask for our help," Kat nodded from her station without looking at me. She could be unbearably casual. "And when that happens?"

An uncomfortable feeling arose in my gut. Certainly it had been there since this began. But it made it made itself impossible to ignore. I could keep this boy a secret. And Kat could. And even young Sky could. But an entire facility full of faculty and students and personnel… Eventually they'd find him. There was no way around that. I could try to prolong the inevitable for as long as possible, but by definition, the inevitable has to come to pass. My vision was suddenly full of fathomless green eyes and youthful features made old by the impenetrable walls behind them. The boy was a mystery, and part of me even feared I'd somehow been caught under some kind of spell he'd cast, but none of me truly believed that to be the case.

Eventually they'd find him, and eventually there'd be choices, and eventually I would fight. Somehow I knew that even then.

"When that happens," I said like I hadn't nearly forgotten we'd been having a conversation, "we'll see."

* * *

Sky Tate

It took a little longer than I would've expected to get Bridge what he needed from the Campus Store, too. First of all, he wouldn't touch anything without permission, no matter how many times I told him it was okay. When we walked in, he stared around at all the rows of t-shirts and sweats and jackets and uniforms and school supplies, etc., most of which sported the SPD insignia. I just told Bridge, "Pick out whatever you want."

He'd stared at me like I was crazy.

"Carson, seriously." I tried to shoo him off. "Go wild."

He took a single step forward. Stopped. And he just looked so lost and unsure that I had to sigh. So I went about trying to find the smallest size in everything they carried.

Second of all, apparently the oversize uniform someone had grabbed for Bridge to wear _was_ the smallest size they had. Yeah, that wouldn't work. So I had to order four new standard uniforms and a dress uniform for the kid and was told they'd be in by the end of the week. A third-year cadet named Sue Monare manned the register and put the order through. The redhead had earned her reputation for being a flighty, oblivious airhead. But at the moment, I was okay with that. Because she thought Bridge was absolutely adorable.

As soon as she'd clicked the order through, her head came up, and she spotted him standing behind me. "Oh, wow. Hi there." She came around the desk and made a beeline right for him, beaming the way only females can. "What's your name, sweetheart?" she asked, bending down a little and putting her hands on her thighs like she was talking to a small child or an exceptionally cute puppy.

Bridge stood there, his arms full of clothes I'd piled on him, and looked at me. I took that as permission to answer. I probably could've taken it as a cry for help. "His name is Bridge."

"I meant, what's his first name?" She flicked a red curl away from her eyes and looked at me, annoyed that I apparently couldn't understand her and annoyed that I was cutting in on her bonding time with the adorable little Earth boy.

I had to back off my answer for a second. It hadn't really occurred to me that Bridge was an odd name for an Earthling—at least for an American Earthling. But, I figured, who was I to judge? I went by _Sky_.

"Bridge _is_ his first name. Last name's Carson." Like she didn't realize the XXS size uniforms had been for him, and, oh yeah, that was name on the order.

She frowned. "Are you sure it's not the other way around?"

"Of course I'm sure." I was suddenly less than sure. Carson Bridge did sound more conventional than Bridge Carson. I sent him the question with my eyes. He nodded with his little smile. Aha. So I _was_ right. _Bridge Carson it is._

I grabbed an orange SPD t-shirt close enough to his size. Held it up. "This good with you? You need more t-shirts."

Before he could even answer, she grabbed the hanger from me and put it back on the rack.

"No, no, no, no, no. Way wrong color. Sky, honestly." She shook her head at the huge disappointment that was me, and focused instead on the kid. "Come here, cutie." Bridge's eyes got bigger and he swallowed, looking at me, and this time it was definitely a cry for help.

I tried not to smile. I don't usually have to try. Then I nodded at him, trying to convey she wouldn't bite.

He nodded back at my encouragement and held his ground as Sue flipped through the rack at dizzying speeds and pulled off the exact same shirt only in green. She took the pile of clothes from him and practically threw them at me. When I adjusted them so I could see again, Bridge had his chin raised toward her, and he was trying hard to stand still as Sue came at him with that shirt that was so vastly superior to the one I had picked out.

"It's a t-shirt," I pointed out. And I grabbed the one I'd gotten off the rack just to be spiteful. "What difference does the color make?"

She turned to me and scowled. "A big difference." When she looked at him again, she was all smiles and brightness. She held the shirt in front of him, checking the size, and she was nodding and clicking her tongue, and I could tell Bridge was uncomfortable with her being so close. "See, now, this will bring out those pretty green eyes. You ever notice how it's always the boys that get the real long eyelashes? How unfair is that, right?" She tossed the shirt at me. "Fold that, Sky," and she grabbed a long-sleeve knit in a darker shade of green off a shelf, unfolding it in front of him to check that the sleeves weren't too unbearably long for his arms. "You know," she told him, "you and Sky don't really look alike."

I resisted the urge to tap my foot. This would take a whole lot longer if I had to put up with her making pointless observations. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, what is he to you? Brother? Cousin? Nephew? Um…second cousin?"

"Not really any of your business, is it?"

She made an irritated little sound. "People have conversations, Sky. There's nothing wrong with me asking you questions. I'm being friendly, not interrogating you. Geez." She may not have been the sharpest tack, but her voice was sharp enough.

"Hey, I just wanted to get his stuff and get out of here. Idle conversation has never been my strong point."

She sighed and turned back to Bridge, rolling her eyes. "Just promise me you won't turn out like Uncle Sky over there." A sudden grin. "You know, I haven't seen you smile once since you got here." She reached out toward his face, intending to tap him on the nose or pinch his cheek or something, I guess. That was all the poor kid could take.

He jerked back from her so suddenly she dropped the shirt she was holding in surprise, and he backed up wildly until he bumped into me. The fear was loud and all at once and instinct. He twisted his head around to look at me, mortified and worried as he could be, and I could almost hear him saying he was so, so sorry while he cringed and tried to figure out where to go.

I shifted the clothes to one arm and caught his shoulder, and he gave an honest to goodness flinch that I instinctively ignored as I guided him to stand next to me. "Calm down," I told him firmly, my no nonsense voice only loud enough for him to hear me. "You're fine." I squeezed his shoulder lightly before I let go, just to prove to him it didn't hurt. That he could stop being afraid.

When I looked up, Sue was staring at us with a weird, quirky smile that I didn't understand at all. "What's he doing?" she asked, like he was funny, and I didn't get that. What about what had just happened could possibly be funny? What about what just happened could be anything but tragic and wrong? At least she made no further move toward him. Had to give her credit for that I guess.

"Nothing. He's fine," I told her like it was true and I wasn't furious.

"Kind of shy, huh?" She actually let out this little laugh. Made me want to hit something.

_She doesn't see how scared he is._ And there was flighty, and there was oblivious, but I didn't think she had a reputation for being _blind_. How could anyone not see it? I could've seen it without even looking.

"We'll take this stuff," I told her, no effort to be polite. "That shirt, too." Nodded to the knit she'd dropped on the floor. "Carson, grab a kit off the wall." I pointed to the pegs of clear, plastic zip bags that held guys' toiletry items. Bridge looked at me, questioning. "It doesn't matter which one. Whichever one you want. They're all the same." He didn't move. I didn't sigh. "That one. Get that one right there. That one's yours." He went to the one I indicated and, after checking back with me that it was the one I meant, fumbled it off the peg. I threw his stuff on the counter.

Sue started ringing us out. Glared at the orange t-shirt but didn't comment. I didn't know she could do that. As she scanned tags, she said, "This is a lot of souvenirs."

"Hm. I guess it would be." If they were souvenirs.

"What do you mean you 'guess it would be'?"

I didn't answer. She gave us the rather hefty total and waited expectantly for me to pay her. I shrugged. Tilted my head toward Bridge. "He should have an account on file."

She gave a surprised snort that had a smile attached. Like I'd made a particularly funny joke. I wasn't exactly known for my sense of humor. "Yeah, right."

I stared.

"No, come on, Sky," she said, her smile faltering.

And stared.

"Wh…I…" She realized I was serious, and she about gaped. At me. At him. At me again. Even caught the attention of the kid sitting at the next register. "Under whose name?" she managed.

I shrugged. "Check under Cruger's."

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, save for a little squeak that came from the back of her throat. She studied the computer, shaking her head. Hit a few keys. "I…oh. It's here." Like she couldn't believe it. She looked at me. "This is _unlimited_. Under Commander _Cruger's_ numbers. For _him_?" She turned her gaze toward Bridge like somehow this new information changed him.

"Mmhm. Good. So just put all this on there then. Uniform order, too." I grabbed one bag, handed the other to Bridge, and he hugged it to his chest. "Come on, Carson."

"Wait. He's a _cadet_? But he's too… Sky? Sky!"

I picked up my duffel, held the door open, and followed Bridge out into the hall, letting the door glide shut behind us. We stood in the hall for a second, looking at each other. I grinned, just a little. "I'm pretty sure that was her version of speechless. It's a lot louder than most people's, isn't it?" _Moron,_ I added silently.

He blinked at me. His eyes were looking sleepy as he stood with arms wrapped around his bag. It was maybe a quarter after eight.

"Let's go find the room." He started to trail behind. "Walk _with_ me." He did.

We were room number 518. That'd be up four floors. I watched Bridge as he plodded along next to me. Well, plodded in the most soundless sense of the word. His eyelids were drooping heavily, and his head was nodding as he walked. Kid was pretty zonked. He hefted the bag up higher in his arms and rested his chin on top. Still, he kept looking around, and the aura of fascination that surrounded him never wavered.

"Shouldn't be too much further," I told him as I pushed for the elevator. "The beds should already be made up, so you can sack out as soon as we get there if you want. Tomorrow starts early." He nodded his understanding, and the elevator doors slid open. I moved forward into the small space, leaving my elbow in front of the door so it wouldn't shut before he got on.

Bridge didn't follow. His tired eyes were suddenly wide and wary, and he looked from me to the relatively tight space with unhidden anxiety.

I glanced at him, impatient. "What?"

He took a step back.

"Hey. What's the matter?"

He tilted forward a little, gazing uneasily into the elevator car. Something scared him. I didn't know if he was claustrophobic or didn't want to be so close to me when there was no way out or if he really just had a problem with elevators in general.

"Carson." I shook my head. "No. Look, we're _not_ climbing up four flights of stairs to get to the room. I don't feel like it, and I don't think you've got it in you right now. So get on." Something changed in his expression. A little streak of hope. A tentative relief. "What?" I demanded.

_Up?_ he pointed.

"Yes, 'up.' Our room's on level five. This is level one. I'll let you do the math."

_Not down?_ he shook his head and pointed downward, like he had to be really sure.

"No. Carson, _this_ is the ground floor. I'm not even sure we have a basement." Not that it would've surprised me. But if we did, it wasn't something utilized by the academy, that much I knew. "Even if we do, you and me, we don't go there. Ever."

_Not down?_ he gestured again. Had to be really, really sure.

I remembered those words from earlier:

_Broke out of a high security facility. Not even sure how._

_Prisoner. We don't know what they did to him._

I looked at him. Wondered in how many ways he was perfectly entitled to whatever fear was giving him pause. "Not down," I said. "I promise." I motioned him forward. _You can do this. It's safe. _"So come on. Let's go."

He studied me a moment, deciding whether or not to believe me. Then he took a deep breath, setting his jaw in defiance of the fear that was making his covered hands tremble. With effort, he came closer, his steps measured if a little unsteady, and crossed the threshold. I let the doors close, and the plastic of his bag crinkled as he gripped it tighter. I could hear him breathing, slow and careful and full of dread. In and out through his nose.

I pushed the button. "Going up."

He smiled faintly. There was a lot of courage in that smile. Right then, I didn't even know how much.

It was over in about six seconds. There was a small ding that nearly made Bridge drop his bag. Then the doors opened, and we stepped out. Well, I stepped out. Bridge about dove out. He let out a deep sigh, and that was the loudest sound I'd ever heard from him. I considered him a minute. "Hey," I said. "Come here." There were the usual sounds of guys talking and laughing and horsing around that came with the dorm levels. I ignored all of that and herded Bridge up to the big window several paces down from the elevator. "See?" I shrugged a shoulder. "Up."

He tiptoed closer to the window and gazed out. Five stories up gives a good enough view of the city. Newtech really lights up at night. Even I know it's pretty.

His breath left him all at once, and his bag hit the ground. He stood there a moment in front of the window, staring out at the city like everything in the world had disappeared except those thousands of colored lights. After a minute, he tore his eyes away and looked at me. His face wasn't really smiling. There wasn't room for a smile over all that _wonder_. I'd seen people awed a few times in my life. Wasn't like this. He looked like his head was about to explode, but…in a good way. He pointed out the window like _Have you __**seen**__ this?_

I smirked. "Yeah. It's pretty much like that every night. You get used to it."

He shook his head like he thought that was impossible. Then his legs folded under him, and he sat right there on the floor. Like it had literally knocked him on his butt. He just stared up, out the window. Marveling so loud I could practically hear it.

I took a step closer, looking out the window, trying to see what he saw. It was pretty. The lit buildings of all different sizes against the blue-black of the night sky. The glow of traffic creating a river of red and white. Billboards flashing their ads, and the businesses with their neon signs. I could see all that. But whatever it was that sparkled in his eyes and bowled him over escaped me.

"Well?" I finally asked, looking down at him. "You planning to stay here all night, or do you think we could actually make it to the room sometime before sunup?"

Bridge tilted his head to one side, tearing his eyes away from the view to look at me. I think he saw my smile.

"Come on." I nodded him up, and he came, with one last, longing gaze back at the window. "Hey," I said, shrugging like I didn't really want to make him feel better. "It'll be there tomorrow."

He looked at me. His smile was tentative, almost experimental, and ridiculously grateful. Then he scooped up his bag and followed me to our assigned wing. We passed by closed doors, got the sounds of the guys behind them being guys on their first day back. The loudness and laughter made the little guy wince and shoot me nervous looks.

"This you just gotta get used to," was really the only bit of wisdom I could offer there.

Simon Bright, a fifth year and resident advisor, stood at the start of our hall with a slate in his hand, looking official and bored. He was Earth-born; short and stocky. I nodded at him and held up the housing form. "Tate and Carson. Room 518."

He stared at Bridge. Didn't say anything. I always appreciated Simon Bright. He pressed the form down on his slate and waited for it to scan and be approved. Then he gave me the lock code for the door, recited the standard welcome, finished it off with, "And don't do anything stupid," and pointed down the hall. Simon Bright. Good guy.

We got the corner room on the end. It was quieter at least. I opened the door. Walked in, set my bag on the closest bed, set Bridge's on the other. It was a decent room. Plain, off-white walls, beds made up with gray blankets and pillow cases, a computer station and closet on each side, and plenty of shelf space. The door on the far wall led to a bathroom that was pretty tiny. Basically nothing fancy, but everything a person could need was provided.

"So," I looked at Bridge. He stood in the middle of the room with his bag held tight to his chest. "Ta-da."

He looked at me. And I knew he was asking a question, but I wasn't sure what it was.

"What?"

His gaze fell all over the room, and he looked like he couldn't believe it. Then he looked at the door where I'd left it open. _Stay?_

"Yeah. We stay here." I didn't really understand what he was asking, but I knew it had something to do with that. "What don't you get?"

The doors automatically close after sixty seconds. At that point, it had been sixty seconds. The door slid closed with that soft whoosh sound doors make, and Bridge tensed. But he nodded and ducked his head. It wasn't like he was upset. Not really. Disappointed? Again, not really. Almost, but not really. He was…resigned, I guess. And I figured kids his age should never be resigned like that.

"_What_?" I asked again, ready to get to the bottom of whatever it was.

He shook his head, and I'm pretty sure he called me _Sir._ I don't know why. Just felt like he called me sir, and it bugged me.

"Carson, what do you want?"

His hands clenched the plastic bag tighter, and he ducked his head a little. I caught a ripple of dejection, and I figured out what that was about at least.

"Bridge," I corrected myself. He looked up at me, eyebrows raised. Then he gave a quiet, grateful smile. He liked being called Bridge. It was his name, and he liked it, and it made me wonder when was the last time somebody called this kid by his first name. I shoved my hands in my pockets and shrugged off his gratitude. "Just don't ever call me sir."

He bit his lip, like it worried him that it didn't really worry him that sometimes I knew what he was saying.

"So what do you want?" I punched in the four-digit code for the lock, and the door whooshed open again. "Whatever it is, we can just go get it. Not a big deal."

His mouth dropped open. Utter astonishment. And the answer clicked in my head. I had to take a deep breath to sort of steady myself. And steady as I was, the truth still twisted in my gut. I closed the door. Then I opened it. Then I closed it again. I watched cautious understanding dawn on his face. "Bridge," I said. Quiet. Firm. "Nobody's locking you in. This is just a dorm room. You get the lock code. You can leave whenever you want." I pointed around the room. "That is your bed. That is your desk. Those are your shelves. For the next nine months at least, this place is yours. You decide when you want to be here and when you want to be somewhere else. Door opens whenever you want it to."

He was taking slow breaths, his chest going up and down as he stared and tried to comprehend what that meant. Here was this little kid, and he could hardly understand freedom. He knew it was something he wanted, but somehow he hadn't expected it was something he could have. Most kids that come through the Academy see rules and curfews and early mornings and hard training and studying till all hours. Right then, the only thing Bridge could see was a door he could open from the inside.

I leaned on the wall next to the door, watched him think it through, watched the joy kind of grow out of him. The bag of his things he was holding slid very slowly to the floor. He looked back at me to see if I would snatch it up. I didn't. Then he came up to the door. Pushed the buttons on the keypad he'd seen me push. The door opened just like it was supposed to. And he grinned. It was a real, live grin, something even Sue Monare couldn't have missed. He looked at me like I was his hero, excitement pushing back the exhaustion behind his eyes. He looked at me like he couldn't understand why I was being so nice. I'd never been one of the nice guys. Never really been a mean guy, either, but definitely not a nice guy.

_I'm not going to hurt you, kid. I'm just not. Get used to it._ I didn't say it out loud. Would've sounded stupid to say it out loud. So I just looked at him and thought it. He said he couldn't read minds, and I believed him, but I still figured he'd understand. I don't know why I figured that. One of those things I didn't really think about.

His eyelids were starting to get lower, even while he was telling me all these thank yous.

"Just go to bed. You look like you're about to pass out anyway." I pointed. "Bathroom's right there."

He looked at me.

"Brush your teeth, shower if you want, and get into your pajamas. Bathroom's yours, too. Whenever I'm not in it."

He grabbed his things quickly, all the time checking my reaction, making sure he was doing it right, I guess. Then he disappeared into the bathroom and the door slid closed. I may have let out the loudest sigh of my life.

I changed into my pajamas, figuring I could use a shower in the morning to help me wake up. Then I rifled through my bag until I got my dad's picture and put it in its spot. That was all the unpacking I decided was really pressing. I settled on my bed with that year's SPD handbook. They come out with a new one every year. Usually they don't change much of anything—maybe the phrasing here or further explanation there. But still, I like to make sure.

By the time Bridge came back out, a cloud of steam followed him. He was in the orange t-shirt I'd grabbed for him—the one that Sue opposed—with a long-sleeve tee under it, and his hair was towel-dried and spiked out in all directions. His hands had been unwrapped and then rewrapped in those same strips of cloth. His eyes were hardly open, and he stopped in the middle of the room, content and exhausted and very, very _happy_.

I waved a hand toward his bed without looking up. "You can go to sleep if you want." It was barely after 8:30, but it looked like he wouldn't be able to stay on his feet much longer.

Little twerp shook his head like _I'm fine._

"Liar."

He looked startled and worried and curious as to how he could lie when he didn't say anything. And I didn't really know, but that didn't matter because I _did_ have a headache, and on top of that I knew I was right.

"Fine. Whatever. Stay up if you want. But at least get in bed, because if you pass out and crack your head open, you know they're going to blame me."

He really didn't want that. He looked at the bed and then back at me.

"Yeah, Bridge. It's yours. No trick."

He believed me slower than he had before, and I hoped that was just because he was so tired. Then he moved his pillow up against the headboard like I had and sat on top of the covers like I was. Kid had the most tragic case of monkey-see-monkey-do I'd ever seen. And he sat there, stubbornly blinking. Hadn't really occurred to me yet that this kid could do stubborn like nobody I'd ever known.

"Why won't you sleep?" Not that it mattered to me, right?

He didn't answer.

I closed my book, annoyed but not really. "At least get under the covers."

He wasn't sure what that meant.

"I'm _not_ tucking you in." While I said this, I stood up and motioned he do the same. Kid shot up like a rocket on the opposite side of the bed from me. I pulled the covers down. "Get in," I sighed. I was only a little surprised when he did. He crawled onto the mattress, put his head on the pillow, and there wasn't a thing he could've done to hide the confusion swimming in those green eyes of his as I dropped the comforter back over him. Yeah. 'Cause that definitely did not count as tucking him in.

I went back to my bed and sat down. All I wanted to do was unwind for a couple hours. Read my book. Maybe grab my headphones and listen to music. Bridge rolled over on his side and watched me. I'm usually a lot better at ignoring stuff like that.

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "You really just won't close your eyes, will you."

He gave me a real quiet, pointed look. If I wasn't going to sleep yet, why did he have to?

"Gee, I don't know," I mumbled. "Maybe because you're tired?" I watched him watching me through half-lidded, slightly blood-shot eyes. He _needed _sleep. So then why…?

_He doesn't trust me._ Oh. Well, yeah, that was so obvious. Don't know why it took so long for me to figure it out. Probably because he didn't look angry or suspicious, laying there fighting sleep. Didn't look like he wanted me to hurry up and go to bed. He was just waiting me out because it was the smart thing to do. Sleeping made people vulnerable. So as long as my eyes stayed open, his would, too. Didn't matter what I wanted. Didn't even matter what he wanted. This was all he knew.

I told myself there was no reason why that should make me so sad. Really, though, I knew there was no reason why it shouldn't. What kind of kid was that scared all the time? What kind of kid thought that was normal?

I set my book down on the desk and stood. Bridge started to sit up, too. "No, no," I waved him back. "You're fine where you are." Even though my back was turned as I made my way to the bathroom, I felt his eyes track me. I went into the bathroom. Went through my nighttime routine on autopilot. Never met my own eyes in the mirror. I was sixteen years old, and I was not upset. I was tired. Had a headache. My whole world had just changed. Everyone knew what I was. And suddenly I felt responsible for somebody else, and that somebody was someone I barely knew, and that somebody was hurting.

There was a click as I switched off the bathroom light. I stood in the doorway and looked at the kid. "I'm going to bed. 'Night, Bridge." And actually, I was tired. Couldn't remember the last time I'd been to bed so early, but I was legitimately tired. I hit the room light, but the short intake of breath and rustle of bed sheets had me flick them back on. Felt like less than a second. Had to have been more, though because Bridge was suddenly out of bed with his back pressed against the wall, being terrified.

I got an idea of why he loved those lights so much. It never really got dark in Newtech City. Unless you were in a room with no windows.

"Bridge. Nothing's wrong. You're fine." I didn't think I'd really earned the right to be believed, yet. But apparently he did.

He eased away from the wall and nodded, tight and quick, apologized a little, and was trying not to beg me not to do that again.

I turned the bathroom light back on and set the door to stay open. Then I turned the room lights off. It was dimmer. But it wasn't dark. "Better?"

His eyes reflected the light, and he looked pretty amazed. Then he found his feet and hunched his shoulders in yet another apology that I didn't have to hear to _hear_.

"Trust me, kid," I sighed. "Of all the people I want to be sorry right now, you're probably last on the list." I shooed him back into bed, and he got in himself this time, pulled up the covers like I'd taught him.

I glanced at him as I got into my own bed. There was a question there.

I wasn't even sure I had the answer. "Because," I shrugged. I didn't know _why_. "Look, just go to sleep." I closed my eyes. Almost immediately I heard his breathing change—lengthen, even out.

I didn't figure on getting a whole lot of sleep. Surprised me because next thing I knew, it was morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Sky Tate_

As I'd predicted, morning did come early. Actually, pretty sure my alarm went off at quarter 'til early. My hand shot out automatically to silence the blaring of the clock on the bedside table, and I'd switched it off by the time I got my eyes to open. I looked over to see an empty bed, and in the span of a second my brain went from confused to annoyed to worried to annoyed-at-being-worried, and by then I'd spotted the big-eyed little monster standing back against the wall, more curious than afraid now that I'd made the sudden loud noise go away. "Bridge." It was a greeting and a reprimand and a reassurance all at the same time. I didn't even know I could do that. Especially not at five in the morning.

He tilted his head a little with an only semi-worried, bashful good morning smile.

"Yeah, back at you, kid," I grumbled as I rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. "You can sleep another fifteen if you want." Didn't really expect he would. But I figured if I said it enough times it'd sink in quicker.

I showered and dressed and brushed my teeth. Ran a little gel through my hair. I stared at myself in the mirror for a minute. My eyes are blue. Dark blue around the edges. My dad had the same kind of dark blue eyes. I blinked away that thought. Had no idea where it came from. I shook my head and left the bathroom.

Bridge stood in front of my desk with his arms hanging at his sides, his head tilted, studying the framed picture.

I felt a flash of annoyance and defensiveness. "Hey."

He jumped a bit and turned to look at me. He was dressed in baggy black sweat pants and a long-sleeve green t-shirt, and they were the nicest things he had. His hands were still wrapped, and he looked innocent, and there was nothing prying about his gaze at all. He took a few steps back from my desk and apologized.

I blinked a couple times. He wasn't like other people. He had no idea how to be like other people. The irritation faded. "No. You're fine. Bathroom's yours. Hurry, though. We still need to get breakfast."

He gave me a real agreeable look and headed around me to the bathroom.

"Bridge."

His eyes were questioning.

"You have to keep your hands covered all the time?"

A shrug and a nod and mostly ashamed.

"Hang on." I went to my bag and rummaged around for awhile. I didn't understand why his hands had to be covered, but I didn't doubt they did, and strips of t-shirt wouldn't last forever, and they wouldn't be convenient in the meantime. I had a pair of biking gloves. Blue and black with a Velcro strap. My mom had picked them up for me to be funny when I bought my bike. "Will these work better?"

He looked at them. Then he looked at me. And he actually did not understand.

"Will they work better for your hands? They'd have to be more comfortable than tying them up like that. Easier to move your fingers, too." It was logical.

He nodded, and this time he understood. Yes, of course they would work better.

"Okay. Here." I held them out. He made no move to take them. Apparently he required explanation. "You can have them."

The not understanding was back. _They're yours._

"Bridge, it's a pair of gloves. I don't need them. I'm telling you you can have them. It's not a big deal. Don't move." And he didn't, even if his eyes did get wide and round as I took him by the wrist and put the gloves in his hand. "Try them. If they work and you like them, you can keep them. Now come on. I want breakfast."

He looked at the gloves in his hand. Then he looked at me. And it was awe. That something that was mine could be his just because I said so. Just because he needed it and I had it and could give it to him. He gripped them tighter and he was overwhelmed by my kindness, and I _wasn't_ a kind guy. His eyes were shinier, and he ducked his head for a second, and it made me hate the world some. Because no kid should ever have to be that grateful for anything. And especially not for a stupid-looking pair of gloves.

Bridge raised his head, and his eyes were dry, and he gave this smile that was the most sincere thing I'd ever seen in my life, and in it was amazedness and something getting too close to hero worship. And it felt a little good, but mostly it worried me. "Hurry," I repeated. "Breakfast."

And he did. Without waiting another second, he took the gloves and practically skipped into the bathroom. He reappeared a few minutes later, and the dirty strips of cloth were replaced by the new gloves, and he held them up for me to inspect, and he was _excited_. He grinned a real kid grin and wiggled all his fingers, and there was _thank you, thank you_ in all of it and promises to take very good care of them and then more _thank you, thank you._

"Yeah, Bridge. They're definitely you."

He grinned and slipped his sock-covered feet into the new sandals he'd got from the store the previous night. They were pool shoes and a little long on him, but they were the only ones relatively small enough that weren't for girls, so they'd have to do until his boots and tennis shoes got in at the end of the week.

"Ready?"

He nodded and skipped up to the door, quick fingers punching in the door code. The door slid open, and there was soundless delight, and this was the second best day of his life.

It was early. Most cadets didn't get up until 6:00 or 6:30, and it was only half past five. So the hallways were mostly deserted as we made our way to the elevator. He tensed a little as he got on, but he didn't put up a fuss even when I hit the down button. He kept playing with his gloves. While we walked, he stayed beside me.

The cafeteria was quiet, but there were a few odd groups of people, some of them staff, some of them just early risers. It was a large room, big enough to hold everyone for the odd academy banquet, with round tables dotting the floor. The buffet line was on the left wall from the entrance. By the time we got to the line, we'd attracted the attention of everybody in the room. Some of them had class enough to be subtle. Some of them didn't. Bridge noticed, too. I think he tried to play it off like it didn't make him nervous, but he was closer to me than three feet and almost hiding behind me a little. Almost.

I shrugged. "Don't worry about it." Except I wasn't completely unworried about it. I didn't know what kind of stories were going around about me and what I was, and I didn't know what people were saying about Bridge either. I grabbed a tray. "What do you want for breakfast?"

He looked down the row of food and didn't answer. But he did lick his lips and swallow.

"You like eggs?"

He bit his lip.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

He just didn't know.

"Okay. Well. See anything you do like?"

He didn't answer.

I stopped. "You don't know." All the food all lined up out there in the open for everybody, and he didn't know what he liked. I didn't understand how that could be. It still surprised me at that point how much of the world he didn't know. "You've never tried…any of this?"

He looked faintly embarrassed and shook his head. There were a couple kids lining up behind us, and we were holding things up. Not that I particularly cared, but I figured I'd made enough enemies for awhile. "It's fine." I looked him over. "We'll start by getting a handle on what you like and don't like. Then we can put together a meal plan. We've gotta put some weight on you, so you'll need a lot of protein, but we want to balance that with carbs and the right kinds of fats to get you ready for ground school and PT when you're old enough." He'd feel better if he weren't so little. And I doubted he would've objected to training hard.

I put two plates on my tray, and he followed me through the line and let me put things on his plate to try. He nodded while I told him to steer clear of the waffles because they were pre-made and always rock hard, but the pancakes were usually fine, and don't even bother with any given casserole because sometimes our cook was just a little too creative.

After piling our plates with a variety of choices, I got him a glass of milk, a glass, of water, and a class of cranberry-grape juice. We found a table near the wall and sat.

"All right," I said, pointing at him with my fork. "Sample away."

He looked from me to his food and back. Then he picked up his fork and held it like I did. Waiting for me.

I stuck my fork in my scrambled eggs, scooped some up, and popped it in my mouth. He followed my lead with his eggs, doing exactly as I had. It was like looking in a mirror. Right up until he took that first bite. The look on his face was…wow.

It was like watching a little kid with his first bite of chocolate cake or something. Not just bliss. But surprise. Downright shock that something could taste so good. Except this wasn't chocolate cake. This wasn't even fruit cake. These were cafeteria eggs. Heck, there was a good chance they'd been powdered.

No telling him that, though. He was looking at me like I was the guy who'd invented scrambled eggs in the first place.

"Take it we can put this in the category of things you like."

He nodded and forked up another bite. Next came hash browns. Kid freaked out in his silent, goofy way. Then pancakes. Same story. I think the syrup just about gave him a coronary. Turkey sausage, yogurt, cereal. He took a bite of each, and it was like it was all such a novelty to him. I mean, it was cafeteria food. Bad cafeteria food. But he was like the pauper who'd just swapped lives with the prince.

He really hadn't eaten very much. Hadn't even had a sample of everything I'd picked out. It was kinda scary how little he'd actually eaten when he suddenly froze, and the smile on his face disappeared.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

His hands clamped over his mouth, and when he shook his head, the color drained from his face. He was going to be sick.

"Follow me," I commanded, and he obeyed without a second's hesitation. Luckily we were by the wall. I would've preferred to get him somewhere a little less public, but I'd barely got the waste receptacle pulled out from the wall before he gagged.

Bridge leaned over, gripping the edges of the bin with both hands, and I saw every time his body shook as he retched, and everything he'd just found so much joy in putting in his body was forcefully expelled.

Like I said, he hadn't eaten much. But the heaving seemed to last forever. I just stood there, angry at the unfairness and unsure what to do until some idiot started clapping at the show. I whirled to find some curly-haired fool grinning stupidly from his table nearby. I reminded myself I couldn't punch that smile off his face like I wanted to, but the glare I directed at him was plenty effective in accomplishing that goal. "Turn around," was all I said, and he did it. Still, I really wanted to hit something.

I turned back. Bridge was breathing hard. He'd slid to the floor, his arms around his middle, hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead. He was pale and sick and small and miserable.

"Bridge?" I said quietly, at a loss. "Are you allergic to something?"

He nodded once.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a food allergy?"

He squinted a little and looked up and shook his head. Not allergic to food then. "Well something made you sick…" I trailed off. Eating. Eating made him sick.

"Bridge," I asked slowly. "When's the last time you had something to eat?"

He looked at the cafeteria line and back at me. A simple enough answer.

"No, I mean before just now." I guess I half expected what I got. But that really didn't make it any less unbelievable.

He frowned like he wasn't quite sure he understood the question. Then he pointed to his stomach. And like a fool, I didn't understand his answer. His frown deepened and he lifted that oversized t-shirt just a little, and there was a hole there in his stomach. Small and newly scabbed over. He pointed again. Just real simple. Like _It goes right here._ A _hole_ in his stomach. A hole the right size for a nutrition line. Somebody'd been feeding this kid through a tube. Recently. I thought I was going to be sick right there with him.

He pulled his shirt back down and looked at me, confused. Like he could see what I felt, but he couldn't understand why I felt it.

"That's wrong," I said, voice low and husky. I just wanted him to know that—without a doubt. "Bridge," I said. "That's _wrong._"

He swallowed and nodded in simple acceptance of that, hanging his head low. _I'm sorry._

"No!" The word slipped out from under my control before I could do anything about it, rage and revulsion hitting me in waves. Bridge flinched like I'd hit him. He didn't look at me, but I could sense him getting scared. And he was getting scared of me. "No, Bridge, you got it wrong. Listen to me. _You _didn't do anything wrong. It was wrong for _them_ to do that to _you._ Don't ever think this was your fault. Whoever did this is evil, and I hate them, and it's not your fault, you got me?" I was so angry. How could somebody do something like that to a kid? And then make him feel so freaking ashamed and worthless. And it was Bridge! This little kid in front of me. Sitting two feet from me. He had a name and a face, and this…innocence. How could someone do that to him?

He'd finally raised his head to look at me, and his gloved hands were held up, his expression something between awe and pain. _Calm._ He wanted me to calm down. Which I thought was stupid. If someone had done to me half of what they'd done to him, I'd be screaming at people to get them to be just as mad as I was. Still, I didn't want to scare him any more.

"Just tell me you understand what I'm saying to you."

His nod was short. Hesitant. But his eyes were over-bright. Like it meant something to him that I could be so upset and it was _about _him instead of _at_ him.

I took a few deep breaths. I'd definitely be talking to Manx ASAP about what to do about his eating. His body had gotten used to not having to digest anything solid. He couldn't handle food.

"What do you say we try this again?" He looked less than thrilled about the idea. Not that I could blame him. "Hey, I know, but you need to have something in you." He raised his eyebrows. We'd just tried that. Everything we'd put in came right back out. "I'll find something that'll be easier to keep down. We just need to do it gradually—teach your body how it's supposed to work. Okay?"

He nodded and I held out a hand to him and he didn't take it. I don't think he even imagined I'd expected him to. But he stood and followed me back to the table. I could've told him to eat a dozen doughnuts, and he would've tried just because I'd told him to. I left him sitting at the table and made him some toast, adding a light coat of butter. It wasn't much in the way of fuel, but I hoped it was light enough to stay down, and heck, it was _something._

I set the plate down in front of him, and he eyed it warily. Like _it_ was about to eat _him._

"Just try it. Take little bites and chew it really good before you swallow. It's not exactly the most exciting thing for your taste buds, but your stomach'll thank you." I hoped.

Slowly, he nibbled off the corner. Chewed. His eyes widened a little, and he looked at me and grinned.

"Good?"

He nodded happily and pointed to the toast, asking a question.

"It's bread. Toasted. Better known as toast." Seriously?

He held up the toast and pointed to the melting butter. So that's what he was excited about.

"Butter."

He nodded and licked a bit of it, grinning like this was actually the best day of his life. He held his fingers in front of his mouth and wiggled them, and it was so goofy-happy, I had to fight down a grin.

"New favorite?"

Yes was the obvious answer. Still, he could barely eat half a slice.

I picked at my own food until he was ready to go. Somehow I wasn't very hungry anymore.

SPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPD

_Commander Cruger_

I was sitting at my desk when Sky Tate, sharply dressed in uniform, walked into my office at 5:58, the boy trailing slightly behind. Sky stood at attention, eyes sharp and focused straight ahead. Even standing before the SPD commander, confidence seemed to ooze from him. The boy stood next to him, baggy clothes hanging off his thin frame, shoulders hunched, standing closer to Sky without seeming to realize it, large eyes appearing to be trying to take in everything in the room at once. The two could not have looked more different.

"Cadet Tate," I nodded. "Carson."

"Sir," Sky greeted.

"Dr. Manx should be here any minute," _fifteen minutes ago_. "While we're waiting, I trust everything went smoothly last night?"

"Yes, sir. All the paperwork came through fine. They didn't have his size in the store, so he had to order uniforms and shoes, but they say they should be in by end of week."

"Fine," I said. "Cadet Carson. Sleep well?"

The little boy nodded graciously.

It was then that Kat Manx breezed through the door. "Good morning, gentlemen. How'd you fare last night?" She immediately spoke to the boys, sparing a nod for me as an afterthought.

"Fine, ma'am. No problems at all."

"Fantastic. After we get things squared away with Doggie, I want to take Bridge here down to my lab for an exam. Make sure everything's functioning properly. How's that sound?" She looked at Bridge when she asked.

Sky looked like he was about to say something, then his head spun around to look at the boy. "It's fine. She didn't mean it like that." The boy ducked his head and stuck his hands in his pockets. He seemed fine to me. But it was odd because Sky didn't seem to think so. "Bridge, calm down. That's not what this is. She wants to _help_ you." Sky sighed and looked at Dr. Manx. "You can check him over up here, can't you?"

Kat was looking back and forth between the two. Come to think of it, that's mostly what I was doing as well. "Why?"

The look he gave her suggested he thought it a ridiculous question. "What do you mean why? Look at him. He doesn't want to go." His eyes went back to the boy again. "Hey, no. If you don't want to go, you don't have to go. Look, she is _never_ going to hurt you. But you don't have to go anywhere you don't want to." Bridge glanced up quickly, and Sky snorted. "Yeah. I know."

Kat sent me a look over the boys' heads. I returned it. "Sky," she said almost cautiously. "Does he…communicate with you?"

Sky stared at her blankly. "He doesn't talk."

"Then…how do you know what he wants?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Look at him. You can tell. He's not that hard to read."

I did look at him. Bridge Carson had his head lowered, hands in his pockets. He looked like a shy little boy. Perhaps a bit daunted. But there was nothing about him that I could read like Sky had.

Kat and I looked at each other at the same moment. And neither one of us had any idea what that meant.

Sky's head swiveled back and forth between us, his forehead creasing as he frowned with his entire face. "_What_?" he asked.

SPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPD

_Sky Tate_

I didn't know what was going on with the Commander and Dr. Manx, but the looks they kept shooting each other really started to annoy. It was the kind of look that meant they knew something they weren't saying. But it didn't seem to me like they could know a whole lot more than I did.

The meeting with Cruger didn't last very long. He talked about the placement tests he'd scheduled for Bridge and the tutors he was considering and how he'd be working with them to develop a basic routine for Bridge's days. His speech was very concise and coherent, and he didn't try to dumb down or patronize, which was one of the reasons why I generally respected him. Whether he was talking to a Ranger or some little kid, he used the same sort of voice.

For his part, Bridge had his feet apart, his hands in his pockets, and his head tilted way back so he could gape at the Sirian, right up until I nudged him. _Stand like me._ I sort of nodded to myself. He got it and matched my pose, clasping his hands behind his back, standing straighter. At ease, still respectful.

The placement tests would begin at ten and would take most of the afternoon, not counting a break for lunch. Bridge nodded, accepting and amenable as ever. He seemed a little worried, but not overly so, and I suppose I expected that.

"That's settled then. Dr. Manx, as for Cadet Carson's health exam…?"

"I suppose I could do it in the nurse's office. Would that be…better?" She looked at Bridge. The kid was obviously more in favor of that idea. Still she looked at me, waiting for the answer.

"Yes," I said, and it felt redundant. "Ma'am," I added because my tone was borderline _duh._

"Okay," she said, pushing away from the wall she'd been leaning against. "Follow me, then."

I started to follow with Bridge, but Cruger's voice stopped me. "Sky. May I have a word with you for a moment? Privately?"

Bridge stopped when I stopped. He glanced toward where Manx stood just past the doorway and then back at me, and there was a tiny flash of fear. It tugged at me a little, maybe. But that was ridiculous. I wasn't the kid's mother or his security blanket or anything else. He didn't need me with him. And if he thought he did, he needed to get over it quick and for his own good, and oh, yeah, I didn't care.

"Go ahead. I'll be there in a minute."

He hesitated.

"Go. She's waiting. Go." Of course I was the one who'd just told him he didn't have to go anywhere he didn't want to. But he couldn't go everywhere with me either.

Bridge nodded and he was resigned and he was brave and he turned and followed her. Kat Manx sent me a look before she turned around. I don't know if I interpreted it right or not, but it seemed like empathy and it seemed like uncertainty. Then they were gone. He walked behind her, not with her.

Anyway, though, it seemed the right thing to do at the moment to give my commander my full attention and not think of anything else. "Sir?"

"I'm concerned, cadet." Straight to the point.

"About what, sir?"

"Our new cadet. And about you. You signed on without the facts, and I allowed that because it seemed like the best course of action at the time. But it would be a disservice, possibly a danger, to you to let you continue without knowing what you've agreed to." His eyes bored into me without a trace of humor. "Without giving you the option to back out."

"I'm not backing out," I said immediately.

"You need to hear me. Bridge Carson is…"

"With all due respect, sir, I know what Bridge Carson is. And I know what he isn't." I met his gaze. "I'm not backing out." Tates didn't back out. And besides, Bridge was just a kid, and there was nothing wrong with him, and I hadn't actually agreed to anything but rooming with him anyway. Except there was implied responsibility in the association, and everyone would be able to see that.

"Then give _me_ all the facts, Sky. Tell me why."

"It was the right thing to do…"

"Yes, yes," he waved that away impatiently. "But why? How did you know?"

"I don't know. It just seemed…unavoidable I guess." Not even I knew what that meant.

He frowned. I didn't think he'd accept that and let it go. But he surprised me. He sighed. "If you have any problems…any hint that something might be wrong, I want you to tell me immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"I mean it, Sky. Tell me. No matter how small a matter it may seem."

"I understand. I will."

"Good. You're dismissed."

I nodded and went to the door. "Sir?" I said as the thought occurred to me. And suddenly I very much needed to know.

"Yes?"

"Where exactly was he? Before?"

He walked back around his desk, looked down, straightened the edge on a stack of printouts. He seemed reluctant to answer, but he did, and his voice was the same as always. "KRI."

"The research center?" And for the first second, it didn't make any sense to me at all. It was kind of a nice second, full of all kinds of childish ignorance. The moment after that was much less kind, much less innocent, much less hopeful. Reality hits hard when it's that ugly. Of course. He was an experiment. That little kid was somebody's lab rat. Anger pulled my hands into fists, and I felt the blood boiling through me. "And we don't really know anything, do we." My voice was so controlled. It was hardly a question.

"No. We don't really know anything."

"Mmhm. Have a good morning, Commander." I turned on my heel and left without waiting for a reply, though I'm sure he tried to offer one. I started immediately in the direction of the nurse's office. Thinking of a kid trapped in a place so cold and gray as that tall block building. Thinking of a kid who was scared of elevators and ditzy redheads and alarm clocks and darkness. Thinking of a kid whose body could hardly let him eat anymore. And I kept thinking _For how long?_ And I kept thinking _Too long!_

I didn't think I was running. I was wrong, though, because I _was_ running. At some point, maybe because my breathing had gotten faster, the rest of my body had just kicked into gear to make that make sense. The nurse's station was through the doors of headquarters, into the academy, first floor, east hallway, and it was a short distance, and I made it in half the time, and I probably looked like an idiot to anyone I passed on the way.

I didn't knock. Didn't even consider knocking. I slammed the door open, and Bridge was sitting there on the exam table, his shirt in his still-gloved hands, and he jumped at my entrance, his eyes getting wide, and then fear turned into relief, and I shouldn't have been able to see that, but it was so obvious. And I looked at him, and I hurt.

His ribs-sticking-out skinny body was all over dark purple and green bruises and tiny holes and larger holes, and it could hardly have been worse if someone had just straight beat on him. I froze in the doorway. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. As bad as the world was, it couldn't be as bad as _this._ This sort of thing couldn't happen, and it especially couldn't happen to someone I knew, and it _especially_ couldn't happen to Bridge.

Rage. Not anger. Not irritation. This was blind and growing fury that made me dizzy and invincible at the same time, put everything into sharp focus and surrounded in a cloudy haze of red. And nothing made sense except that if the people who could cause something that could hurt so much were there in the room with me, I easily and remorselessly would've made myself a murderer.

"Sky?"

I barely registered Kat's voice before there was a quiet hiss and Bridge's hands were pressed into the sides of his head, and he reacted. He scrambled off the table, tearing the thin paper that covered it, and he clambered backwards until his back hit the wall, and he begged me, _begged_ me to stop.

All those bruises. He had to have been hurting. And I'd seen fear a hundred times, but I'd never seen that kind of pain, and why hadn't I seen it?

At the wall, he sat, brought his knees to his chest and threw his arms over his head, curling into a ball, and he was trembling.

"Sky," there was a hand on my arm, a soft, worried voice near me. "I think you need to calm down."

How could I calm down? It was wrong and it was sick. But even so, "I know. I'm trying." I sounded numb. I was still standing in the doorway, everything about me unmoving except my heart pounding in my chest and the blood rushing in my ears.

"He got sick this morning," I heard myself say. "They've been feeding him through a tube."

The hand stayed on my arm. "I know."

"He can barely eat."

"It doesn't surprise me."

It surprised _me_. I thought I knew the world. My dad was a Ranger. He died serving this planet. I thought I knew how bad things were.

"Give me a minute," I said to Kat. I had no right to tell her what to do. But she nodded and quietly stepped outside.

Bridge stayed where he was, on the opposite side of the room from me, hurting. And somehow I knew it was me doing it. _Calm. Calm down._ It didn't seem fair I had to calm down. Didn't even seem possible.

I walked across the room until I was standing over him. I had nothing to say. So I sat down next to him and waited for everything to slow down a little. "Sorry," I finally mumbled. I don't apologize to people. I don't. I didn't mean to apologize to him, but he was hurting and it was partly my fault and that made me very sorry. He didn't raise his head or move or anything. But he didn't think I should be sorry.

"I don't know how to not be angry about this," I admitted. "I don't think I could ever not be angry about this." He still didn't move, but he didn't say anything this time either. I swallowed. Resisted the urge to punch the wall. "You want me to leave?"

_No!_ His head shot up, eyes hazy, face pinched with pain. _Never_.

"I'm mad because people hurt you. I don't know how your…gift or whatever works. But I think me being mad is hurting you, too. And I can't control that. So maybe it's better if I…"

He ducked his head back down, and there was despair. But he didn't ask me to stay. I don't think he'd ever have asked me to stay if I wanted to go.

"Well then tell me how to help you!"

Bridge looked right at me. His big eyes serious and silent.

"It _does _matter," I argued. "I won't stick around if I just hurt you all the time. That's stupid."

He held up his hand, wearing my glove. It was too big, of course, the Velcro strap pulled tight to keep it on. His smile was small and true. _You help, _he nodded. His eyes weren't so full of pain anymore. He tapped his head. _I can take it._ Then he wrapped his arms around his legs and looked at me.

I sighed. Leaned my head back against the wall. "This is so ridiculous," I muttered. When I came back to the academy, ready to start year two, this wasn't at all what I had in mind. Everything was supposed to be predictable. Boring. Standard. I'd just met Bridge Carson, and he was none of those things. "I'm so…freaking mad."

He knew. The fact that any of this would matter to me at all was amazing to him.

"Shouldn't be."

Was.

"Whatever." It was crazy. I hadn't even known him a day, and just the fact that I didn't want to hurt him made me something in his eyes. His hero. Protector. Greatest friend. I didn't know how to be any of that. Wasn't even sure it'd be right for me to try. Wasn't sure I should want to.

But there was something. Something that made me want to protect. Made me care. Made him matter. Like there was something about him that was like me. It didn't make sense. Because we were nothing alike.

"I'm not backing out," I said after a minute. It hadn't ever really been a possibility. His relief was huge. I shrugged. "Too much trouble to switch roommates again." And I don't think he understood that exactly, but I know he understood I was lying. "But you have to promise me something."

_What?_

"If you're hurting, you have to say something."

He tilted his head to one side.

I rolled my eyes. "You know what I mean."

He pressed his lips together and promised.

I stood and pulled him up with me by the hand. I was afraid to touch his arms. They were so scarred and shredded. He still seemed shocked by any kind of physical contact. "General rule, okay? People here don't get to hurt you. Not even me. Got it?"

I don't think he did. But he nodded anyway.

"Fine." I looked at him. A foot shorter than me, ugly smudges marring his arms and chest. Hair going every which way, face pale. Too sick and starved to do much of anything it seemed. And he was quiet and somehow strong. I told myself he was safe now. He'd be okay. And that maybe took away a little of the anger, but not all of it. Not even close. I straightened. "I'll go get Dr. Manx." And more than anything I wanted her to find out what they'd done to him and more than anything I wanted her to fix it.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Commander Cruger_

"Dehydrated, malnourished, slightly anemic, mildly jaundiced." None of her words were unexpected, but I would have loved to have lived in a universe where they were. Kat was angry as she paced the floor in my office. Hers was the kind of anger that inspired. "A _child._ Animals in captivity are treated better, and they just… Ugh, what that must have _done_ to him."

"But he'll be all right?" It was meant to be more of a reminder than a question.

She looked at me. "You bet he will. We're going to make sure of it."

"Were there any other signs of abuse?"

"X-rays showed healed breaks in his left arm and wrist."

"Those could have been normal childhood injuries," I said mildly. Forced optimism, though, has never been my strong point.

"And so could the cracked ribs," she nodded and both of us disagreed with me. Normal childhood injuries typically occur only when one has a normal childhood. She sat in the chair across the desk from me, brown eyes boring into me. "I _hate_ this." I had nothing really to say to that. She didn't expect me to, really. Her face went into her hands, and she rubbed her temples like she had a headache. "He _trembled._ Every time I got close. His face was just…blank, but he trembled. Then Sky came, and he was so upset, and I think Bridge could…could _feel_ it."

"So he really is psychic."

"He really is something. I don't know. I'm not sure how it works."

"Did you take a scan of…"

"Of course. He has the same anomaly in his brain that Sky does. In the same place. I can't explain to you what exactly it is or what exactly it's doing to him. But it's there. I wish he could tell me about how his gift works."

"About that—him not talking I mean. Is that…"

"I couldn't find anything physically wrong that would explain his muteness, no." Her mouth seemed pinched. "But I think there's plenty to explain why he won't talk."

I was a warrior. If there was one thing that caused my heart to pound and the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end, it was the idea of capture. Of being locked up. A prisoner. My life held in the loose grasp of another, one who was my enemy. I don't know if my sanity would survive that. There was a little boy not terribly far from where I was who had endured just that for some unknown amount of time, and if he were able to close himself off, to shut himself down in order to survive, it was a miracle. It showed strength. But on the other hand, it seemed like it would be a long, hard road back. "What do I do with that? Send him to counseling? A therapist?" I'd been through my own harrowing experiences. And if some buttoned-collared fool sat across from me and told me to tell him my story, that he could help, that he could _understand_, I think my reaction would be less than civil if I'm being honest. But Bridge was a child. That fact seemed like it should change things. But I just wasn't sure it did.

"You don't think he needs it?"

"I don't know of anyone who would specialize in…_this_; do you?"

She gave me a look that let me know my tone was harsher than I intended it to be. "I'll make some calls."

I mentally added another to the list of apologies I owed her. I was too proud at the time to realize a little humility would have gone a long way to better me. Carrying a load of guilt seldom serves to make a person stronger. "Thank you. Where is he now?"

"Resting. He's had a long morning already. He'll need a lot of rest and fluids for awhile to keep him going."

"What about Sky?"

"He went with him back to their room. He suggested letting Bridge 'lay low for awhile.' Until he gets used to things. I told him that would be okay. I know you scheduled placement tests for this morning, but I told them those were cancelled. Oh, so you should cancel those, by the way. We can reschedule for next week. We really can't set him up with any kind of physical or academic routine right now. He's too worn out. I mean really, he's just…he's running on empty, and I don't want to stress him any more than is absolutely necessary. I want him to feel safe. Sky agreed immediately. And I think somehow Sky knows a lot more than I do. I don't know how. He acts like…like it's not an odd thing. So I don't think it's like a 'psychic link,' but…there's definitely something there that Sky can read that I can't."

It was interesting. Maybe even more interesting than worrisome. "How's Sky doing?"

"Better than I would've ever believed. And I don't think he even knows it."

SPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPD

_Sky Tate_

It had been a couple days since the weird little bomb had been dropped on my life, but the adjustment actually hadn't been all bad. Bridge mostly stayed in our room, and I'm pretty sure he slept while I was in my classes. We went to meals at odd hours to avoid the crowds, and that worked fine for both of us. Bridge because crowds made him nervous and headachy, and me because I like to think I hate people. I'd heard the whispers. I mean, I'm not an idiot. I would've been whispering too, probably. People start talking about psychic powers, and it's going to get around fast. But it had been a pretty quiet couple days.

And there were things, if I had to admit it—which I guess I really didn't—that I sort of liked about having the kid around. Like when I would come in from class, and he would perk up and grin and pretend he hadn't been sleeping and just be genuinely, honestly glad to see me. For no reason. Just that I was there. And it's not…like I'm not sentimental or anything, it was just…it was different for me. And I definitely could've done without it, and it was annoying at first, but after I got used to it…it was nice. Like I'd never known anybody to just…notice when I was there and when I wasn't like that.

Also, I found out the kid was funny. And mostly when he was funny, it was because he was clueless. But sometimes, he was just funny. Like when we went to the campus store to get him a slate so he would have something to do when he wasn't sleeping. The moment he saw Sue Monare start to get up, he held up a hand, went and got a green shirt and put it on the counter to appease her, then stood behind me and made silent, expressive, non-comments about how the women here were really confusing. I thought it was kind of hilarious. She didn't get it.

He had to go in to see Kat Manx every morning, just to make sure he was still functioning properly. They met in the nurse's office instead of down in her lab, because even the idea of going "down to the lab" seemed to make him think horrible things and get that awful, trapped, fearful glaze over his eyes. And the nurse's office worked fine for checkups. He had been eating a little better. Loved him some buttered toast. But he still got sick after eating sometimes, and there just wasn't a lot he could do about it. Also, he'd run a low grade fever the second night, and I'd called her. Because honestly, a fever could've meant a thousand things, and at least forty percent of them were life-threatening. Turns out it wasn't life-threatening.

Anyway, we had the routine down pretty well at this point. Breakfast. Dr. Manx. Then I would walk him back to the room, and I would go to class. Today, though, the exam was taking longer than it had been. Dr. Manx wanted to run some kind of test on his heart, and he would have to keep this thing hooked up to his chest for like an hour.

Bridge was lying on a cot, holding his shirt up while she attached the leads, and he shook a little, and didn't like her so close at all. I had to take a step back. Because there was all the evidence of where he'd been and what he'd been through, and it was still ugly colors and scabs and evil, and it still made me furious.

"Almost got it, sweetie. There," she said, as she finished, and she was always kind to him. "Get comfy. I need you to lie pretty still so I can get all these readings right. Feel free to take a nap if you like." No way that would happen in a million years. But she backed away from him and went back to her desk, and the distance always made him feel more comfortable.

"You know she won't hurt you," I murmured.

She _hadn't_ hurt him. It didn't mean she _wouldn't._

"You really think she would?"

Of course he did.

"Why?"

He had to think about that. He was surprised to find he didn't know. It was just how it was.

"Well, it's not how it is now. And for the record, she likes you. So…try to figure that one out."

He couldn't figure that out at all.

I sighed and rolled a stool up to the cot and sat down. "You know you take everything way too literally sometimes."

He apologi…

"_Don't_ apologize."

Bridge crossed his arms, and I swear there was something approaching a pout. Little guy didn't like being preempted. Just on principle. But he'd never say so. And he couldn't apologize for apologizing, so really I'd just taken away his only response. And surely that wasn't fair.

I hid a grin. "I am a Space Patrol Delta Academy Cadet. I am nothing if not fair."

Quietly he disagreed. Because less quietly he thought I was better than fair. Fair meant people got what they deserved. And he thought I was better. I was better than what he deserved. "You're not profound," I said flatly. "You're ridiculous."

He raised an eyebrow. _Huh?_

"Don't play like that. You know what I mean."

And I could've sworn he had to hide a little grin.

I glanced over at Kat, and she almost managed to go back to what she was doing without making it real obvious she'd been staring and listening. Realized we'd been talking kind of loud. Or…I had. He didn't talk. Didn't really make sense why people thought that was so weird. But I really needed to work on seeming less weird in front of people. I cleared my throat and shut my mouth. Glanced at Bridge. Was he laughing at me? He was really good at hiding things.

Dr. Manx left after a bit, stating she had to drop something off with another faculty member.

Bridge contemplated the door…

"Don't even think about it."

Wasn't going to. Oh, and that time was definitely a pout.

"Don't look at me like that. We're not sneaking out of a nurse's station so that you don't have to do exactly what you'd be doing if you were up in the room."

He very obediently looked away at the wall and twiddled his glove-covered fingers. His eyes were getting heavy.

I sat and rambled about some of the finer points of SPD cadet life, keeping my voice low and even and informative, and maybe trying to be boring a little. He seemed content and relaxed and comfortable, and just sort of happy to hear a voice that wasn't dangerous. To have things gentle and quiet awhile. And it was hard right after the visual reminder of his past, but I think I mostly managed to keep my more homicidal thoughts to myself. To put that stuff away, save it for later. I'd always thought I was good at compartmentalizing. Turns out, I wasn't really. What I was good at was stewing internally. That wouldn't cut it with Bridge. But I guess I was getting better.

I looked at the clock. Quarter til. If I felt reluctant it was accidental. Also pointless. "Look, I gotta go. Got classes until eleven again. I'll catch up with you for lunch." His eyes were already rounder, his head off the pillow, and all that was content and relaxed and comfortable about him disappeared.

He sat up all the way. _I'll go with you._

"You can't go. For one, you're not in my class. Also, you're supposed to stay still. Hearts are kind of important. You should let her check on yours." That was that.

Bridge looked all around the room, chewing on his bottom lip, thinking hard for an argument that would end with him getting to be my tagalong. Or at least for me not leaving him there. I hadn't left him in a room with someone else since that first time. But there really was no argument. Wasn't like I had a choice. And I think he was still too scared of me to really try to argue anyway. Would never tell me to take him with me when he thought I didn't want him there any more than he'd ask me to stay if I wanted to go. He looked toward the door. Back at me. _Where will you be?_

"Next floor up. Dr. Manx will be back in a little bit. She'll finish her test, and you can just head back to the room if you want. It'd all go by a lot quicker if you'd just take a nap. She's not going to let anything happen to you. You'll get stronger a lot faster if you learn to shut your eyes once in awhile." Kind of had all the major characteristics of scolding. Didn't really mean it to sound like that I guess. But I had a point.

He didn't nod. Didn't agree completely. But he did lower his head and slightly apologize. Wasn't really an apology for not sleeping, I don't think, because he didn't know how to change that. Just generally sorry that I was unhappy with him I guess.

I sighed. Started to say something. Something about how it really wasn't about me being unhappy with him or not wanting him with me. Couldn't find the words. Probably sighed again. "Whatever." I was at the door by the time the guilt had me turning around. I hate feeling guilty. Hate it. "Hey." He looked at me. "Try not to worry so much."

He nodded and solemnly swore and set about trying to be less worried because I'd asked him to, and it occurred to me I'd just accidentally given him one more thing to worry about, and I wanted to cuss a little. In the end I just had to turn and walk out. Otherwise, I think I would've lost to the ridiculous urge to stand in front of him and promise I'd be back for him. Or worse, I wouldn't have been able to leave at all. And there was no reason to feel that way. Unless you counted all those marks all over him that were proof of twistedness and torture and who knows what else. Then there were too many reasons to count.

SPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPD

_Kat Manx_

When I walked back into the nurse's station, I didn't see Sky or Bridge. Of course, Sky would be gone. He had that 8:00 class. Probably the only reason he would've left Bridge in my care. It made me grin a little to think about it. For all that's different about him, Sky was still a teenager, and appearances were important to him. I'd kept my eye on him since before he'd even come to the academy. He always had to be the strong, dedicated, no-nonsense one. That's what he wanted everyone to see. A strong leader. Capable. A man. And right up until the moment I saw him burst into that room with his heart displayed across his face, it was like watching a little boy playing dress-up in Daddy's clothes. But that moment was the first time I saw Sky Tate. The one that wasn't a display piece. It was infinitely more impressive than the front he used to fool everyone else. The young man whose eyes reflected such horror at seeing someone else abused, mistreated—that young man knew nothing of the soulless indifference Sky seemed to want everyone to believe he possessed.

Those thoughts didn't occur to me until later though. Because right then, I was scanning the room and coming up one little boy short. "Bridge?"

I followed the leads attached to the machine, and the led me right to him, down on the floor, knees to his chest, peeking his head out at me from behind the cot. He blinked fathomless green eyes.

"There you are. What are you doing down there?"

He still looked at me, but this time didn't blink, and I wondered if Sky would have known what he was thinking. And I tried not to wonder if that should worry me.

"Well, sweetie, why don't you lie down up here again and rest a bit more, okay? I need you to be lying down and still as possible. That way we won't have to do this again." He stood and didn't move. Just stood there. It wasn't until I moved back toward the desk that he took my advice and went back to the cot. "There you go," I smiled.

He was so little. I wasn't sure exactly how old he was. I'd have to run more tests to figure out what more he'd been through, how exactly his body was doing, but I didn't want to do that to him just yet, not after seeing the most obvious evidences of what had been done to him. By people who probably looked not much different than me. So I didn't want to run any more scans or tests without Sky there. But those would tell me how old Bridge was. I could only guess about eleven or twelve, but that hardly seemed possible. His eyes looked ancient.

He sat still and unreadable, never looking directly into my eyes but never looking away either. I pressed my lips together and fought the urge to gather him up in a hug only because I didn't know if that would hurt him. Also, I really didn't want to mess up this test. I turned and went to the desk and started some paperwork. Or at least started trying to look like I was doing paperwork. I made sure to look up Sky's schedule so I'd know when to expect him back.

Fifteen or twenty minutes passed in silence, and each of the hundreds of times I glanced over at Bridge, I either wanted to softly smile or softly sob. His eyes were sleepy, and sometimes he would rub them, and sometimes he would turn his head to look all over the room, and sometimes he would play with the oversized gloves on his hands, and all the time he looked like a little boy. He was cute. He was very cute. Far too thin, but he was very cute. His hair was dark and rebellious, and his eyes were so green I thought they might glow in the dark, but it was a lovely green, the kind that you didn't realize you were staring at until he blinked. He was pale, but his skin hinted at freckles, and I wanted to make getting him out in the sun a priority. And every time I glanced at him, he would glance at me. And his face, as adorable as it was, as expressive as instinct told me it _should_ be, gave _nothing_ away. No fear, no loneliness, no pain, no happiness, no unhappiness, no want, no curiosity. All that really showed up was the sleepiness that he either couldn't or didn't hide.

"Bridge, I'm glad you're here with us." My voice sounded loud and odd in the quiet. But I wanted him to hear it anyway. He looked at me. Just looked. "I really am. And Doggie is, too—Commander Kruger. And Sky." He blinked. "Especially Sky. As soon as he gets back from the science lab, I bet you're the first person he'll want to see."

Bridge sat up straight.

Unsure, I smiled at him. "Do you need something, sweetie?"

And without any warning whatsoever, the leads were ripped off his chest, and he was out the door and running.

"Bridge!"

SPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPD

_Sky Tate_

I have no idea what the point of the first week of class is. I mean, I know if you're going to have class, there has to be a first week. But pretty consistently, the first week consists of handing out a hard copy of the syllabus—which was already available to download like a week ago—and _reading_ it. Like we couldn't do that on our own. Whenever I look at a syllabus, and I see "Week 1—Introduction," I know I'm in for a super exciting waste of my time. And the clock on the wall had to be broken. Seconds did not pass this slowly.

And for whatever reason, I…worried. Started about fifteen or twenty minutes into class. I was just _worried_. I never worry. Not like…about other people. I mean, my mom, yes, sure. But I know she can take care of herself. She's always been that way. But I kept having this feeling…which was stupid and pointless and didn't make sense…that something bad was going to happen to Bridge. Like me not being there would somehow lead to him not being okay. Didn't make sense. Logically. Kat wouldn't let anything happen to him. Kruger wouldn't let anything happen to him. His safety was not on me. And he was inside the freaking SPD. What the heck did I expect to happen?

So yes, I was worried. But mostly I was annoyed.

Dr. Laroya was a middle-aged Prothelestian, so…probably around eighty in Earth years. Give or take. And I was pretty sure she'd spent at least the last seventy or so learning how to be socially awkward. She was the only Prothelestian I'd ever met at that point, so I didn't know if it was a species thing or if she was just as much an alien on her home world.

She droned on about projects and expectations and went around _touching_ things with just her thumb, and her bottom lip would twitch, and sometimes she would forget English words. Most everybody had universal translator implants, and I'm sure she had one too, but some people still insisted on learning languages. Don't have a problem with that. It's a great intellectual exercise. But when you're freaking trying to teach a science class? Seriously lady. It usually takes at least three or four words for the implants to pick up on a new language and start translating. So when she would interrupt English with a word or two of whatever Protheleste language she spoke, it was grating in the worst way. Language feedback.

It had been thirty-two minutes since class began. I'd watched the minutes change on the digital clock display at the front of the room thirty-two times. Knew I had to wait for it to change eighteen more. I was tapping my fingers on the desk. Laroya was babbling on at the front. Students around me were typing on their slates, taking notes or pretending to. Shifting of chairs. Those were the only things I could hear. But somehow every nerve I possessed was on edge, twitching, jerking, _knowing._

_Something is wrong._

Before I knew what happened, I was standing. Professor Laroya looked at me. Her bottom lip twitched. "Cadet?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What are you doing?"

And it was just _something_. Just something in my head. Something I could feel under my skin. "I don't…" Every set of eyes in the classroom was on me. I shook my head. Felt my face get red. "I don't know. Sorry." I sat down.

Laroya stared a bit more. Everybody stared a bit more. I lowered my eyes to my slate and waited, uncomfortable, and eventually she picked up the lecture just as uncomfortably. _Everything's fine._ And it was. I was losing it. Ten more minutes. Just ten more stupid minutes of this stupid class, and I could go. So why did I feel like I needed to go right _now_?

I shook my head, this time just to clear it. It was building up, and it was building up like panic, and I never panicked, but I needed out of this room, I needed _out._ I stood abruptly, knocking my stylus to the floor, and I didn't even bother to pick it up. Grabbed my slate. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I need to…"

And right then at that moment, behind me at the back of the room, the air duct vent cover crashed to the floor. I turned around, confused, and probably everyone did, and I never _ever_ would've guessed, but somehow some part of me already knew. And no. No, that doesn't make any sense, and I know that.

Bridge. Scrambled out of that air duct and fell the few feet to the floor, hit with a thud that sounded jarring, and he was on his feet the next second. At the lab counter. Switched on a burner, and there was something in his hand, a wad of something, and I realized he wasn't wearing a shirt, and I realized that wad of something was his shirt. And then he held it over the burner, and then it was on fire.

"Y-y-young man…" Bridge never let Laroya finish.

He threw the thing to the front of the room, and it hit the screen board and _stuck_ with an odd slurping sound, and for a second, just stuck there in the center of her screen board presentation sparking and crackling, and nobody moved a muscle. Then the flames sucked themselves inside the wad of t-shirt, so quickly that it actually made a sound, and a sickening yellowish brown color began to seep outward across the screen. I looked back at Bridge, and his eyes were huge and afraid and so, so determined, and _I had no idea_.

But Laroya must've. Because in that moment of stunned quiet, she let out one Prothelestian word that I'm pretty sure was not school appropriate.

And then a loud _POOF._ A huge cloud of heavy, dark brown smoke shot out from the mess, so quickly that the whole room was lost in it, and suddenly I couldn't see Bridge, and suddenly I couldn't see anything.

There was chaos. Shouting and chairs falling over and people coughing, and no one could see anything!

A hand grasped my sleeve, pulled frantically, and I couldn't think at that point. All I could do was react, and I was running, following. Like I knew it was important. The door whooshed open, and we were out in the hall, the dark cloud spilling out after us as we ran.

The gloved hand never released its grip on my sleeve as we turned left down the south corridor, and I didn't know where we were going, but my nerves were still clapping. The corridor came to an end, and there were windows there, and a door to the left that led to emergency stairs, and I knew if he pulled that handle, the alarms would go off. "Bridge…"

And the hand let go of my sleeve, and there was a row of chairs along the wall, and Bridge didn't even slow down. Didn't pause for one second. Grabbed the chair on the end. It crashed through the glass, fell two stories, and I never would've thought he'd have been strong enough to do that. But everything about him was pure adrenaline. He knocked the rest of the glass out with quick hands, and then he pulled me up next to him, looked into my eyes. Nodded me out. _Follow._ And then he stood up on that ledge, and he jumped.

"Bridge!"

About six feet down began the slanted roof of a storage garage that had been added onto the building. He hit it and rolled down to its lowest point, catching the gutter and dropping onto a parked cruiser. He stood and shouted silently with frantic arms, _Follow!_

I followed. It was a sunny day, and the city was humming, and several yards to our right was one of the service entrances, and I wondered if that was where they'd brought Bridge in just a few days ago. Because that was the only way he could've known about those windows and that storage garage. And I wondered how many other escape plans he had just in case, and why in the world had we just _escaped_ from the SPD?

I landed beside him, and he hopped off the cruiser and onto the ground, and his knees were wobbly, and he fell a bit, but he pushed himself back to his feet. I followed and wanted to help, and stopped myself just short of grabbing his arm. Because good grief, here he was, shirtless, in the sunlight, and he looked like death. All the paleness and the bruises and the needle marks. He looked like death. Except his eyes. His eyes were very much alive and very much panic and fear and action. "Bridge. Stop. Stop. Hey."

And he gestured with his head. _Come on. _Fifty yards or so away, there was the gate that led out into the city. And that's where he thought we needed to be. That's where he thought we needed to run.

"Bridge! _What's going on_?"

He shook his head, and his whole self was shaking, and he was breathing harsh, and all of this was way too much, too much for him.

"Hey. No, look at me. What just happened, Bridge?"

His eyes were moving around quick, from me, to the building, to the gate, all around like he expected an ambush any minute. He pointed a glove-covered finger at me. Jabbed it in my direction. And his face…there was pain and fear and betrayal, and something like iron—something resolute and unyielding. _It's wrong! **You** said. **You**!_

"Me? What…? I didn't _do_ anything!"

And the accusing finger was pointing at the building we'd just escaped. _They can't!_ _No!** No!** _And his breathing was rough, and he was angry. I hadn't seen him angry.

"Can't _what_?"

_They can't **do** that to you!_

"I…What?" He reached out, frustrated, frantic like a bomb was about to go off, and he caught my hand, and he tugged. And I didn't think he ever would've done that either—reached out and touched me. But he was serious. He was dead serious. He was life and death serious.

_Later. Talk later. Run!_ And he was pulling and panting.

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't _understand_, and I knew I _had_ to. So I yanked him forward by the hand, and grabbed his face in both hands, held him place so he would look the heck at me, and told him, might've shouted, "Stop! And tell me why you…"

A small sound escaped his lips, and it was pain. The moment my hands touched his face, he reacted. He jerked back from me so fast he fell and scrambled backwards, threw his arms over his head, his face screwed up in pain.

"Bridge?"

He shook his head. _Don't! _He turned over away from me, shuffled on his hands and knees, and I noticed he'd lost the pool shoes he'd had at some point, and was just in his socks and sweats. He waved me back with one hand. _Back. Back. _And he seemed to have to wrestle himself to his feet, wavering, and I couldn't help him at all. He looked at me through squinted eyes. He wasn't crying, but they were full of tears. _Please,_ he begged. _Please, let's go._

"Touching you hurts like that?" It was all I could ask. I was horrified.

The service doors opened, and there were running footsteps. "Sky!" Cruger and Manx and Logan and a man named Kress woman I didn't recognize.

"Stay back!" I shouted. Bridge was shaking in earnest, backing away from them on wobbly legs, fear threaded throughout him.

"What did he do?" Logan demanded angrily.

"Sky?" Manx said. "What happened?" All their faces were anxious or angry or both.

There was a soft sound behind me, and I looked at Bridge. Arms wrapped around his middle, shaking his head. Hurting. _No, no, no, no, no…_

I looked at Cruger and the rest. Tried so hard to keep my voice calm. "We'll take care of it later. Go back inside."

"Listen, kid, you have any idea…"

"Sgt. Logan," I said sharply. "Go back inside." It was a dumb move. Logan was a muscle head. He wanted nothing more than for someone smaller than him to offer a challenge. He started forward.

"You calling the shots now, _Cadet_? That how this works? You got some screwy freak ability, like your screwy freak friend, and you think you're gonna tell _me _what to do?"

"Sgt. Logan," Cruger's voice cut in. "Go inside."

Logan looked back at him. "I was called in about a security…"

"And I'm telling you that your services are not needed." The commander did not back down. "Or do you think you're going to tell _me_ what to do?"

Logan's jaw stiffened. "No, sir."

And there was more bickering, and I didn't seem necessary for any of it, and definitely Bridge wasn't necessary for any of it. I looked at him. Shirtless, kind of caved in on himself, looking even smaller, like he was trying to hide. Like he was trying to be less exposed. "It's your skin, isn't it," I realized. "That's part of how your gift works. That's why you cover your hands. The more of your skin that's exposed, the worse it can get."

His teeth were clenched, and he nodded.

I nodded back. "Okay. I need you to trust me right now."

He looked at me. Right at me. And mostly, he just wanted this to stop. _Okay,_ he nodded.

I pointed at him. "I'm sorry I hurt you a second ago." And then I pulled my shirt sleeves down over my hands, and I reached out and grabbed him. Picked him up. And man, he didn't weigh anything at all. Scary how easy it was to haul him around. Wrapped my arms around him, covering him as much as I could, and he froze a bit, but he said he trusted me. Tucked his arms in against my chest, and I pushed his head down so his face was buried in my shoulder. And I tried to think calm things. That was the first time I built a place in my head. It was a gym. How pathetic is that? But I imagined a gym, with just a bench, and I was doing reps, and there was nobody around, and nothing more complicated than keeping count. I don't have any real imagination. But I had to do something, because no way would he survive being this close to me while I was angry and scared half out of my head. "Okay. We're fine. Everything's fine."

And I started walking. Walked up to the arguing adults. They got quiet the second they saw me with him. "I need to get him to the dorm room. Commander Cruger, Dr. Manx…will you please come with me and make sure the halls are clear?" Didn't need people staring. Didn't need people _seeing._ And didn't think Bridge needed to be around more people.

"Cadet Tate," Commander Cruger said. "Can you please tell me…"

"I don't know yet, sir," I said. And I really didn't. "But I will tell you as soon as I know. Right now he's got to get out of here."

Cruger looked at me for just a moment. Then the decision was made. "Kress, Barion, go ahead of us. Clear the halls." The man and woman looked unsure, but I really couldn't read them. And I really wasn't trying very hard. In any case, they responded immediately, and they obeyed. And that's all that really mattered.

Manx walked in front of us, Cruger behind, and I carried Bridge inside, to the elevator, felt him tense, but he was calmer a little bit. Calmer than he had been. To our floor, to our room. I hit the door code, and the door slid open. Finally.

Cruger stopped me. "These are the things that can't happen, Sky," he said quietly. Somber. Worried.

"I know, sir."

"These are the things that could get us in trouble."

"It's not going to happen again."

"I'm talking about his safety. We need to be able to tell people that he is not a threat to this facility. We need people to believe us."

My jaw tightened. "He's not a threat."

"I believe that," he said gravely. "But these are the kinds of things that cannot happen."

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

Kat looked worried. "Is he okay?"

"He's going to be fine. He just needs to be away from people for a little while I think."

"Okay," she said quietly. Nodded. And it seemed like she wished there was something she could do. Just for the sake of being able to do something. I understood that. But she still needed to leave. "Okay."

"Thank you." I went inside and closed the door behind me.

Took a deep breath. "Well, that was just…that was just super weird. Actually." Usually I could state things in better terms.

Bridge was still burrowed into my chest and not saying anything.

"Right. _Now_ he gives me the silent treatment," I muttered. "Come on." I pulled him back until his feet touched the floor and sat him on his bed. Went to the closet and pulled out a sweatshirt. Tossed it to him. It hit him lightly in the chest, and fell into his lap. Usually his reflexes were a whole lot better than that. He didn't move. Just sat there with his head bowed. Looking sad. Looking…defeated. Like he'd just realized he'd lost something, and it was important, and there was nothing he could do. "Bridge. Put that on." There hadn't been a time since day one that he just refused to do what I ask. And this wasn't him defiant. He wasn't defiant at all. He was just a million miles away.

I shook my head. What was he thinking? And I went over and picked up the black sweatshirt and pointed at him. "Arms up." He didn't look at me. I pulled my sleeve down over my hand and tapped him on the elbow. "_Bridge_. Arms up. Right now." It was very important to me to get him covered up. Only partly because it was better for him. It was also because it was hard not to look at him and hate the world.

He raised his arms, and I pulled the sweatshirt down over him. The sweatshirt was warm and soft and too big for him, and he looked down at the SPD logo, and finally he looked up at me. His eyes were agonized. He looked at me and then at the door and back at me. _Let's just go. Please?_

"Bridge, why would we leave? What happened? Did somebody do something, say something?" I was going to kill Dr. Manx. Even though mostly I felt absurdly guilty for leaving him alone in the first place.

_Let's leave._

"We're _not_ leaving. Stop. And tell me why. I mean, you just…I don't know what exactly you did. But I know you freaked a lot of people out. And killed a screen board." Those were probably expensive. "And broke a window. So it's kinda killing me here, not knowing. You go on these sort of little rampages often?"

He ducked his head, more indignant than guilty, and trying to hide it. _No._

"Then why did you feel the need to unleash what…was actually probably the coolest smoke bomb ever in the middle of my science class? How was that worth it? I mean, I understand wanting to book it after that, but why was that even a thing? I mean, I'm supposed to have a lab in there in like twenty…"

His eyes went wide and round, and there was that same panic, that same helplessness. _No!_ He started to catch at my sleeve, but he stopped himself this time, pulled his hand back, and just sat miserably. Shaking his head. Wishing I'd just listen. Wishing…wishing I'd just let him take me away from here.

What…oh. _Oh_. A lab. A science lab. But it couldn't…he couldn't think that… "Bridge," I asked slowly. "Did someone tell you I was in a lab?"

He nodded once.

And it was a surreal sort of realization. "What do you think a lab is, Bridge?"

He sniffed. And he was frustrated and sad and thought he shouldn't have to be telling me this. Thought I should already know. He pulled up the sleeve of his sweatshirt. And showed me exactly what he thought a lab was. A lab was a place where people hurt you. Stuck needles in you and did experiments on you and treated you like you were a resource and not a person, not ever a person.

"You thought they were going to do that to me."

He still thought that. He still very much thought that, and that was why he was so upset. _They know_. He pointed at the door and to his head. Pointed to me. _They **know** about you. About your gift._

I had to close my eyes for a second. Just had to close my eyes and block out the earnestness and the fear and the…what was that? Concern? This little kid. This stupid little kid had thought I was in danger. And even though he looked like skeletal remains, he'd decided to what? To save me? Somehow he'd had a plan, and he'd got up in the vents, and somehow he'd _known where to go, _and he'd…he must've got into one of the supply closets or something to get whatever the heck he'd used to make that smoke thing happen. And he'd done it, and he'd gotten _me_ out. He'd thought I was in danger, and he'd gotten _me_ out of there. Immediately. And he'd been scared, he'd been close to panic, but he'd done what he thought he needed to do, and he'd busted _me_ out of an SPD lab. Because he'd thought someone would hurt me, and he thought he could save me from that. And he must've thought that if he got caught, it would all start all over again for him. But he did it anyway. For _me. _

"Bridge," I said quietly. "Look." I pushed my sleeve up. The skin on my arm was smooth and unmarked and didn't have a trace of the horror that Bridge's did.

He stared, his brow knit as he tried to understand.

"That's not what a lab means here. Here a lab means learning about the universe. Everyone. Together. Just learning. Not hurting anybody."

He shook his head. It didn't make any sense. It was the same word…

"It means something different here. They wouldn't hurt me. They won't hurt you either."

But…but he'd been so _sure…_

"I know." I nodded. "You were wrong."

He let that sink in a minute. And at first he was just sort of amazed. Then he was nervous, and he glanced at me, wondering how much trouble he was really in.

"Don't worry about it."

He tilted his head. _But…_

"I'll take care of it. You don't need to worry. Got it?"

But…but it wasn't my job to…

"Bridge. You had my back. I've got yours on this. Okay?"

He let out a breath through his nose. _Okay._

"Thank you." And really, I was saying thank you for a lot of things. "Now, are you exhausted or what?"

Very exhausted. Without all that adrenaline, he was starting to crash pretty hard.

"You want me to leave?"

_No._ _Why? No._

"If you're not going to sleep, I'm not going to stay. All that crazy stuntman stuff you just pulled? Probably the last thing you should've been doing."

He promised he'd sleep if I stayed. To be fair, it really didn't look like he'd have much choice this time.

"Okay then."

He crawled under the covers, put his head on the pillow like a champ, and just a few days ago, he hadn't understood how blankets and pillows worked. I sat on my own bed, back against the headboard. He was curled up on his side, watching me with half-lidded bright green eyes. I started to remind him that he'd promised to sleep. But I didn't. I said, "I'm staying. Don't worry." And he hadn't said he'd been worried about me leaving at all. Up until this point, he wouldn't sleep _because _I was there. Not because he worried I'd leave. But he'd just been afraid for me. And I'd asked him to trust me, and he had. And maybe that made something different. He looked at me another minute. Then he closed his eyes. Fell asleep almost immediately after that.

I shook my head. Crazy kid.

I glanced at the clock. I did have a class. But probably it was canceled. And even if it wasn't, I thought, screw that.

SPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPD


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_Commander Cruger_

"I need to know how he did what he did." We were standing in the middle of the classroom surveying the damage. It had been taped off. The windows were open, and the smoke had cleared. Now the only thing that remained was a disaster area. Oily brown residue from the smoke covered everything. It didn't smell like chemicals. More than anything, the room had a musty odor to it. Desks were overturned, chairs littered the floor. It was chaos. The screen board at the front of the room was destroyed. I needed to know how he did this. _Why_ would come later. _How_ seemed immediately necessary information to have.

Kat stood next to me. "With style?" she tried.

I glanced at her. I didn't find the humor.

She sobered. "I don't know where he accessed the ventilation system. I still need to review the security footage. We do know he took chemicals from the storage closet two doors down."

"Don't the chemical supply rooms have their own ventilation?" It seemed like they should.

"They do, actually." Her expression led me to believe that was as much as she knew on how he got in. It also led me to believe she was something not dissimilar to impressed with the boy.

"Do we know what he took? What he used to do this?"

"We do. And it doesn't make sense." She stepped around and over various debris to get to the screen board at the front of the room. She examined the black mess that was stuck to the screen. Cracks branched out all around it. "According to the inventory log, the substances he took should not have reacted like this. There would've been some nasty smoke, but nothing like…" She trailed off. Her face right up next to the board, she stopped. "Oh." She turned around abruptly, a small smile turning up her lips, and ever under the influence of amazement. "Oh wow."

"What is it?"

"That is just…huh." She shook her head, piecing something together in her mind that she seemed unsure she should believe. "He's…he's a genius," she whispered.

"Kat?"

She looked at me like she had forgotten I was there. "The _board_, Doggie." As though I were missing something obvious.

"I see it. Its replacement will cost thousands of dollars. Those things are supposed to be indestructible."

"You don't see it. I wouldn't have seen it either. I wouldn't have even _thought_ about it." Her amazement was quickly becoming excitement. "Screen boards are practically indestructible because they are coated with a…a biochemical polymer that contains several enzymes that could theoretically…that _did_…that _did_ catalyze the reaction with the compounds he used! How could he _know_ that?"

I didn't understand it. I could tell she was doing her best to speak in layman's terms for my benefit, but I did not understand it. What I did understand was that, "He did something that most people could not have done."

"He did something most people would not begin to know to do! He had this plan. And he executed it _perfectly_. Do you understand how brilliant this is? Doggie I thought it would be a miracle if he didn't have some kind of cognitive impairment. My goal was to see him _functional_. But this…this goes beyond anything I could've hoped for. He's gifted."

"And he also destroyed a classroom. In front of a classroom full of witnesses." Not to put too fine a point on it.

"He sure did." And now she sounded almost absurdly proud.

"Kat. He escaped from a high-security, interplanetary research facility, the only one of its kind."

Her eyes narrowed, and I thought it was more about the reminder than anything else. "I know that."

"And it should _frighten_ you."

She looked appalled, and this time it was she who did not understand. "He doesn't frighten me."

"Not of him. _For_ him. You should be frightened _for_ him. Some of the most intelligent minds with the most abundant resources of anyone perhaps in the known galaxy laid claim to him. And if they come to our doors with a mind to take him back, what do you believe that battle will look like?"

Her face reflected sudden horror.

"Yes. Exactly. So I need you to understand; I need all of us to understand that our best weapon right now, our best course of action is to make sure the people who are on our side are on his side. And to make sure that word of him does not stray beyond this facility."

"We won't let them take him back," she said, and she was fiercely determined.

"No," I agreed. "We won't _let _them." But if they came in force… Space Patrol Delta was supposed to be the elite policing force in the galaxy. But up against Kerogagi, up against their secrets…there was no way to be sure that we were.

SPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPD

_Sky Tate_

"Hey, Tate, where's your shadow?" It was stupid, immature, pointless, sneering, childish teasing. And it was really starting to grate.

"Hey, Lascone," I said, as I walked down the hall, "where's your off switch?"

Little punk was a year ahead of me and about four inches shorter. Spent a lot of time in the gym compensating. As a result, he was short and thick and slow, and he had a stupid face anyway. "Don't have one."

"Well, if you would like me to install one for you, please. Keep following me." Lascone had been in one of my classes the previous semester. I was a year ahead and he was a year behind, so naturally he'd tried to be an intimidating moron. I'd mostly been successful at ignoring him. This year there was the Bridge issue being talked about, and I was a pretty big part of that issue. So naturally, Lascone couldn't keep his stupid face shut.

As much as I'd gathered from the general SPD population, some people seemed to think Bridge was kind of cool, especially after the smoke bomb thing. Like he was a rebel or something. A bunch were still afraid of him. Some were suspicious or angry and hateful. And then there were the ones who were like Lascone who would be jerks just because they thought they had a right to be jerks. And I believe whole-heartedly in people's right to be jerks. Just that I also believe whole-heartedly in their right to be punched in the face.

He kept on. "You got a big mouth, you know that, Poindexter?" And it was just so stupid.

And I just wanted him to back off so I could get back to my room. "Poindexter? Really? You realize that's a 200-year-old insult in which you are making _fun of me_ for being _smarter than you_." I thought about it. "I mean if your goal is to make yourself look even more like a flipping moron, I guess that's a pretty good strategy. Call me Einstein next. I'll try to look real insulted."

His face twisted a bit in anger. "That's cute, Tate. Your little freak teach you those comebacks?"

"Um, no. It's actually all original. But you should fire whoever you've got writing your lines. They really suck."

"Oh, wait. Wait, I forgot, he couldn't've taught you any of that. He can't talk. That's right. Poor little dummy."

Seriously. Insults circa 1955. And _yet_ they still made my blood start to boil. "You're an idiot." It was just so true in that moment; there really was no clever way to say it.

"I guess it's not his fault, though. Heard he was somebody's science fair project or something. Guess they must've torn his voice box out. Keep him from screaming or something."

I stopped. Swallowed. Because this fool didn't _know_ what he was saying. "You need to stop talking right now," I said lowly.

"I guess you'd like talking to me more if I couldn't talk back. Like your little friend. Talking to him like he can actually answer you. Like he can even understand you. I mean everybody knows the kid is a legitimate nut job. Just I think nobody realized you were on the same crazy train. Or could be you're just pathetic. How sad you gonna be when Cruger boots him out? Or maybe he'll sell him off. Can't imagine who'd wanna buy. Kid's the biggest creeper I've ever seen."

I grabbed him and slammed him back against the wall, and I knew the whole time, that's what he _wanted_. He _wanted_ a fight, and I was giving it to him, and that should've been enough to make me stop, but it wasn't. "You need to shut your mouth." I said. And I was _mad._

He grinned. And why shouldn't he? I was giving him exactly what he wanted. People were stopping in the halls, watching. Anticipating.

"I say something wrong? What are you gonna do, freak boy? Throw up one of your magic shields? Maybe call in the little guy for backup? Maybe when I'm done mopping the floor with you I'll go see him. You can share a hospital room. How cute is that?"

I generally live by a code. Let the other guy throw the first punch. Be the bigger man. Let him start it, and then you finish it. As far as I was concerned right then, he'd already started it.

I hit him. Maybe it was wrong. I knew he was making crap up. I knew he wouldn't go try to hurt that little kid. Surely he wouldn't. But the idea—the image—was there. And I hit him for that.

Thing about Dairn Lascone, is that he spends a lot of time in the gym. It's not a lot of time wasted. And he actually wasn't as slow as I thought he was.

I landed the first punch across his jaw, and he grunted, caught me in the stomach and across the face, and I only just managed to block a vicious right hook that probably would've knocked my feet out from under me. I hit him again. Twice. Then he surged forward. Roared and tackled me full out. Knocked the wind out of me, and we hit the ground. Struggled, and he was on top, and he was _heavy_, and the first punch I saw coming. Rocked my head against the floor, and I saw stars, and the punch after that I never even saw. Vaguely I heard shouting and stomping and the crowd being a crowd, and there was pain, and it occurred to me I may have miscalculated. Lascone was stupid. But he could fight. I got hit again, a couple more times, and it hurt, and I was trying to keep my hands up, trying to fight back, but I was fazing out, everything getting hazy and far away, and I was _losing_. Well. Crap.

And then there was a crash, and a crumbling all at once. And utter silence. Silence from Lascone. Silence even from the crowd. I blinked. My eyes were kind of swollen at this point. But I peered up, and Lascone's eyes were closed. He slumped forward, and I thrust him away from me and sat up. What?

And there was Bridge. Holding the top of a broken clay bust in one hand. Standing there utterly clueless. Peering at me with his head tilted to one side, trying to figure out what just happened. _Are you okay?_ Eyes wide as dinner plates.

And there was Dairn Lascone. Knocked out cold on the ground beside me. Really, kid? Really? Oh, this couldn't be good at all.

"Whoo!" And some people were clapping. Because it was a show. And probably on some level it was hilarious. And some people, like me, were still just staring in disbelief.

Staff members appeared then, breaking it up. Looking rather unfriendly toward me and Bridge and the unconscious heap formerly known as Lascone. _Really could use some work on your response time, people._

I looked at Bridge. He dropped what was left of the bust on the floor. Winced at my face.

"I'm fine," I waved him off. Dabbed at my bloody lip.

He looked with contempt at Lascone.

"He's just an idiot," I said.

He crossed his arms and agreed.

And then there were staff bustling all around, and we started getting yelled at, and I stood up and let Bridge hide behind me.

SPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPD

We sat on the bench outside of Cruger's office. Normally we would've been sent to the Academy administrator's office. Jaines's office. But somehow we'd been deemed the Commander's responsibility, and that was fine with me. Jaines did, after all, seem to hate us. Bridge because everyone was scared of Bridge. And me because I wasn't scared of Jaines.

Some thoughtful person had given me a cold pack to hold to my face while they were carting Lascone away. I appreciated it. A lot. My face sort of hurt.

Bridge sat next to me. He had his slate with him, and he had his knees pulled up with the slate resting on it, and he was playing some old Mario game he'd downloaded. Had the sound on and everything. Happily oblivious. Which was fine. I would've thought he'd be more upset about the whole thing.

"How did you even know where to find me?"

He looked up at me, and Mario ran into a chasm and died. He looked down at his screen. _Oops._

"Pause the game. We're probably about to get seriously grounded, you know," I said drily. "This could be our last conversation as relatively free men. So spill. Why and how did you show up when you did?"

He shrugged.

"How can you not know?"

He sighed and tried to explain. But he couldn't. Rubbed his hand on his chest. Made a vague motion near his head. _Just…felt like…_ He shook his head. He really didn't know. And he didn't seem concerned about it at all. This kid who was worried about absolutely _everything_ suddenly decided to play it cool about weirdly, inexplicably, coming to my rescue in a part of the building I'm pretty sure he'd never even been in before.

"So this really doesn't bother you?"

Nnnope.

Something tickled back in my mind, and I remembered the almost-forgotten moments I'd had in class the other day right before he'd busted in and "rescued" me from my science class. When I'd felt anxious and panicked and couldn't explain it. Afterwards, that hadn't bothered me either. I hadn't even thought about it. "Huh," was all I said.

He patted the bench beside my hand in a little comforting motion. Then he went back to his game. And I could not for the life of me figure out why this semi-dangerous experience didn't turn him into that quick, darty-eyed, trembling, frightened kid like everything else did.

"You know, for the record? You shouldn't step in on a fight. You should go find a responsible adult." And wasn't I way too young to be on this side of this conversation?

He sent me a sideways look. Like, what if the adult had wanted to fight me, too?

I stared at him flatly. "That's not a real thing that would happen."

He didn't look up from his game. But he wasn't so sure.

I sighed and winced as I shifted the cold pack from my eye to my lip. "Any case, you really have to stop busting in to save the day. Bad habit."

One shoulder shrugged, and he didn't seem concerned about bad habits.

I shook my head. Carefully didn't smile. "Well. You're just gonna be a little tough guy about this whole thing, aren't you."

He only smiled a little.

"Okay. But superheroes are supposed to wear masks."

He punched in something on his slate. Held it up for me to see. A picture of Superman. Being a superhero. Without a mask. And good grief, was this him _smug_?

"All right, fine. You know what? Fine. You just go ahead and keep thinking you're adorable."

And he _saluted_ me. This was the rare Bridge that could be funny and could tease. And I liked it a lot better than I liked him being cowed and scared and worried. But I did wish I knew where the confidence was coming from. All it takes for the kid to step out of his shell a little bit is to see me get my butt handed to me by a gorilla? That didn't seem…healthy.

"I would've had him eventually." That was a bald-faced lie.

But he nodded comfortingly. Like, _Of course you would_.

"I really should be scolding you for jumping headlong into a fight like that." If that guy hadn't gone down, if he'd turned around and gone after Bridge, the kid wouldn't have stood a chance. And I really wanted to think like I wouldn't have let that happen, but if he'd hit me just a couple more times, probably there wouldn't have been anything I could've done. "So…why did you?"

He asked a question.

"No, I _know_ you don't know how you got there. But when you got there…why'd you do that?"

He looked at me, appraising. And suddenly he was shy again. Just that sort of unsureness that seemed to follow him everywhere. He watched my eyes as he very slowly reached out and took hold of my wrist. Waited a long beat to see what I would do. I just watched him. He drew a circle in the air with my hand and looked at me. It took me a second to get what he wanted. Then I drew a force field in the air, a small one, flickering blue just beyond my fingertips.

"This?"

He nodded solemnly.

I practiced in our room sometimes. He always thought it was the coolest thing. And yeah, so it made me a freak, but let's face it, I could make force shields with my mind. It pretty much _was_ the coolest thing. But I didn't see where he was going with this. "What about it?"

He let go of my wrist and pointed at me. _This is what you do._

I nodded, confused. "Yeah?"

He pointed at himself. And then at the glowing force field and then back at me. And it took me a minute. _You shield me sometimes. Sometimes I shield you._ Simple.

I waved my hand, and the shield went away. And I looked at him. Little, skinny kid in a world where everyone he'd ever seen was bigger than him. And he thought he was going to protect me. And for a stupid split second, it touched on my pride, because I didn't need that. I was bigger than that. I was _stronger_ than that. But oh wait.

Thing people hate about Bridge sometimes I think, is that he forces people to look outside themselves for like two seconds. And the thing people love about Bridge sometimes I think, is that he forces people to look outside themselves for like two seconds. And I was sixteen years old. Everything was all about me. I was all about me. Generally still am. Generally content to stay that way. But that was the first time I saw something that wasn't revolving around my quest for my greatness, and it shook up my pride, just a little bit.

Because twice Bridge had thought I was in danger, and twice he came running. And Bridge wasn't like me. I went into stuff believing I'd win. Because I usually did. He went into stuff because he cared enough to risk losing. Twice he'd come running. And that's why he could be so blasé about this thing right now. He'd run up and hit that guy, believing he was about to get his own clock cleaned. And it didn't matter to him that he was about to get his clock cleaned, his goal was just to make that guy stop hurting me. And it had worked. He'd won. And he hadn't even gotten hurt in the process. Maybe that had never happened before. And he knew it amounted to a lucky shot. He had to. It could've ended a dozen different ways. And _I_ wasn't sure that Lascone would've hit Bridge. But Bridge was.

Bridge stepping up when he thought I was in trouble had nothing to do with how strong I was. Bridge stepping up had everything to do with how strong Bridge was. I was usually strong enough to win. He was strong enough to lose. Losing was always harder. My dad had told me something like that before. When I was really young. When heroes couldn't die. _Being a Ranger isn't about being the strongest, Sky. Being a Ranger is about being willing to give the most._ And I hadn't remembered him saying that until right then. And it took this kid sitting next to me, scarred up inside and out, who thought _I_ was worth something, to remind me.

Suddenly he sat back, and he looked worried, and he asked what was wrong, and he was sorry.

"Nothing," I said. "Nothing." Shook my head with a small smile. "Okay. All right, lightweight. You want to jump into fights like a lunatic?"

And I _swear_ everything in his expression said, _What's that make you?_ But he quickly scrubbed that out and looked at me wide-eyed and uncertain of what his answer was supposed to be.

"Then come on. Let's see what you got." I stood up. Ow, my face was throbbing. Put my fists up. "Come on. You want to be a crazy person, you're going to learn how to do it without swinging statues at people's heads."

He looked blankly at me and held up a picture on his slate. It was a bust. Of Pythagoras. And probably one of those trig teachers down on that level was going to be pretty ticked when they realized it was missing from their classroom.

"Statue. Bust. Whatever. Same thing. Come on, Superman. Let's see those fists of steel."

He set the slate down slowly and stood up, sort of looking at me with his head tilted back like he wasn't a hundred percent sure I was not suffering from a concussion. Which, to be fair, I may have been. I had already been way too introspective to not be suffering from a head injury.

"Dukes. Put 'em up."

He did not know what that meant.

"Fists."

Oh.

And he did. And I wouldn't have hit him. I didn't even really want him to block me with those shredded up arms of his. But I grinned at him quick, let him know that this was playing, and that it was okay and wouldn't hurt. Gradually the worry lessened, and his eyes brightened, and he went along.

And it was just a whole lot easier than trying to find the words to say, hey thanks. And definitely a whole lot easier than trying to figure out how to tell him that he was a person, and that nobody should hurt him, and that I was kind of glad he was alive. Because no way was I _that _concussed.

SPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPDSPD

_Kat Manx_

A fight. Of all the… If there was a list of _Last Things We Need_, this definitely would've been right up there. As soon as Doggie called me, I wanted to kill Sky a little bit. I knew he could be a hothead, and I knew he had a mouth. He'd been in one real fight since he'd come to the academy, last year. And to be fair, that had been the other kid's fault. But his timing on this one… Fantastic.

I walked down the hall, quick steps, worried; hoping it was something silly and trivial and not something that would end up becoming a huge issue, worried it was going to end with Sky being suspended, worried about Bridge, worried about the other kid in the fight (because I'm completely impartial), whoever the heck he was. Worried like I had been since the smoke bomb incident, that any day we might get a knock at our door from nondescript people in white lab coats that had come to try to wrestle Bridge away from us. Not that we'd let that happen. Not that we'd ever let that happen. And probably I'd seen too many movies, but more importantly I'd seen _Bridge_, and no horror film I'd ever seen could ever compare to that little boy's torso.

And they were supposed to be keeping a low profile!

I was about to round the last corner when I stopped. Because I heard a sound. And I had never heard this sound before. And it was Sky Tate. And it was laughter.

Not howling, yuck-it-up laughter. Just quiet, playful, teasing laughter. And he was talking.

"You gotta be quicker. You gotta be quick. Ow! Oh, geez, _why would you **do** th_…I'm just kidding, man. I'm kidding. I'm sorry." And chuckling all through it. And I peeked.

They were play-fighting. Those two were horsing around. Sky would cuff lightly around Bridge's head, and Bridge would block with his hands, never his arms, and try to catch Sky in the chest, and this was the little boy who didn't want to be touched by _anyone,_ wasn't it? And that's when I saw it. Barely there. Quick. And I almost missed it. Bridge _smiled_. He smiled. And his face had _something in it_. And for that split second, he almost looked _normal_, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I ducked back behind the corner, and had a moment of being purely, one hundred percent female, and there were some tears.

And I listened and smiled and thought about that smile and tried to remember where the security cameras were in that hall and whether I could get a still shot of that smile. Because that was _hope._ All my other worries were still completely justified, and I knew it. But that was hope.

I took a few more minutes of listening and of composing before I rounded the corner. Both of them stopped the moment I stepped into view, and when I looked at Bridge, his face was just as closed as ever. Both of them were staring at me, and Sky looked a little confused. "Dr. Manx?" he asked, very professional. "Are you all right?"

I realized that the smile I was wearing was probably disproportionately large given the circumstances. "I'm fine, Sky. How are you? Your face looks terrible." It did, actually. All superficial, but still definitely swollen and painful.

"You should see the other guy." And his glance toward Bridge was subtle, but I thought I detected amusement.

I looked at Bridge, still as stone next to Sky. "I heard you threw a statuette at the guy?"

"It was a bust," Sky deadpanned. "Of Pythagoras."

"You _busted_ a guy?"

"In the head," Sky nodded. And was he _proud_?

I tried to sound stern. I really did. "Well. You boys wait out here. I need to talk to Doggie. Commander Cruger."

He glanced at Bridge. "Yes, ma'am."

When I got into Doggie's office, he was pacing, and I could tell he was stressed, and I could tell his worries were all the same as mine, likely heavier because he'd seen much more of the galaxy than I had. And the moment he looked up at me, the first thing out of his mouth, gruff and grave, was, "Why are you smiling?"

"You need to give them a stern talking to," I said, unapologetic. "And then a severe warning. Or _maybe _a severe talking to and a stern warning. But then you need to let them go."

He raised his brow. "I need to what?"

And perhaps I should have cited something about punishment fitting the crime or hearing the whole story or something that sounded in some way professional. What I actually said was, "They're cute, Doggie. They're _so_ cute."

He opened his mouth, closed it. Several times. "_What_?"

I told him about Sky. About Bridge's smile. He nodded, but didn't seem to understand my enthusiasm.

"There was a fight," he reminded me. "A fistfight. On SPD grounds. I have a cadet that regained consciousness about ten minutes ago. I can't determine my disciplinary policies based on the…cuteness of my subordinates, Kat." Some days I think I make life rather difficult for him. Those are usually the best days. Days when I accidentally get the Commander of Space Patrol Delta to use the word "cuteness."

"Okay. Fine. If you feel like you need to suspend Sky then suspend him; just suspend him in-house."

"You do realize that the little one broke a vase over another cadet's head!"

"It was a bust," I explained. "Of Pythagoras."

And there was that look.


End file.
